from the LP Cottonwood Hill Bellaphon Records, 1970
Unfurling like a multicultural happening for psychedelic adventurers, the band Brainticket clearly benefited from having members of so many different backgrounds, with no less than five distinctive nations being represented here (Belgium, Scotland, Germany, Italy, and Switzerland); quite frankly, it’s perfectly apropos when you consider that, back then, a lot of good-hearted folks still believed in the notion of psychedelic drugs actually transforming humanity into a more peaceful and informed state of unified existence. While that utopic vision never fully renovated society’s norms & values, the creative expressions of those caught up in the moment remain for us to examine and enjoy, conceivably with a less serious mindset but no less enjoyable, musically speaking. There are shades of Pink Floyd, King Crimson, and even Soft Machine within this track, and if you can get past the acid-camp images delivered with such dire magnitude by singer Dawn Muir, there’s actually a lot to enjoy here, perhaps most of all the jazzy breaks care of drummer Cosimo Lampis. Smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em.
from the LP Three Friends, Vertigo Records, 1972
Okay, so there’s prog ROCK (ala Rush, Yes or Atomic Rooster) and then there’s PROG rock (ala Jethro Tull, Genesis or ELP)---if you jump several notches farther out than both ends along that spectrum, there you will find the strange & fascinating world which is Gentle Giant, existing in the space beyond; full disclosure here: some of their stuff is even too complex for me to enjoy, which is saying a lot given much of the crazy shit I listen to. All of Giant’s members being ridiculously prodigious multi-instrumentalists might have something to do with it, but their works go beyond just talent; indeed, their aim to merge vibrations from our distant past with the electronic future (always in some outlandish panoply of time signatures) was both noble and, sometimes, mind-bendingly successful. The great thing about their unique sound was that they weren’t afraid to rock the fuck out when need be, and they show their teeth on this, their third LP, quite a bit. I’m not terribly big on concept albums, but this one works just fine, the reality of the many differing roads young pals wind up taking in life being a storyline that’s easy & natural to connect with, “…once three friends, sweet in sadness, now part of their past…in the end, full of gladness, went from class to class…” Their work is an acquired taste, a true challenge to one’s musical expectations, but well worth the effort if you like progressive rock. If you don’t, cover your ears and run…run fast!!
from the LP Moving Pictures, Mercury Records, 1981
I’ve seen enough dinosaurs wheezing their way through current takes on their golden oldies to know that making a song (let alone an entire album) sound the same as it did on an LP thirty years ago is no small feat---and that’s just musically speaking, as I know better than to ever presume a singer’s pipes will remain intact after that much abuse. Thus, all of us were blissfully stunned last night upon receiving the sacrament which is a Rush concert at Red Rocks, because not only did they play through all of Moving Pictures with cyborg-like precision, they also played another album’s worth of deep cuts as well, both challenging stuff (still in shock that they jammed on “2112”, fucking surreal man…) and standard fare (i.e. “Working Man” and a roiling rendition of “Subdivisions”); not to mention, Geddy sounded incredible, still hitting the highest notes without bluffing. The moment that legendary synthesizer chirped to life in the opening bars of this song, people just completely lost their shit man, it was bloody extraordinary!! “…no, his mind is not for rent, to any god or government, always hopeful yet discontent, he knows changes aren't permanent--- but change is…what you say about his company is what you say about society; catch the mist, catch the myth, catch the mystery, catch the drift…the world is, the world is, love and life are deep, maybe as his skies are wide…” Being a sociologist, this type of lyrical reflection on culture and society have always been a big part of my love for this crew, one in a small handful of successful rock bands to make it big without a focus on sappy love songs or party anthems. I know I’m gonna sound like an old fuddy-duddy here, but there just aren’t many band’s today who are talented enough to even get close to this shit (maybe Zombi or Astra being the exceptions, and even they are still pawing at the mantel), either in complexity or breadth of ability. Oh yeah, and Neil Peart is greatest drummer EVER, period.
from the LP Frumpy 2, Philips Records, 1971
Many musicians, writers & artists in post-war Germany have been, justifiably, consumed with issues relating to human rights and the continuing plight of many groups around the globe, including what is perhaps the worst treated ethnic group in all of Europe: the Romani, or ‘Gypsies’. With lineage stretching back into northern India, this group of people began migrating west around 250 BCE, and they’ve been met with hostility at virtually every step of their journey it seems, culminating in the murder of over half a million Roma in Hitler’s concentration camps during WWII; however, unlike other groups afflicted by the Nazi disease (i.e. Jews, gays, the disabled, etc…), the Romani people have continued to face prejudice and hatred from all corners of the continent. Inhabiting the same, more western sounding, corner of the Krautrock hash den as Jane, the Hamburg-based Frumpy delivered a touching story here, establishing something of a creation myth for the Roma, conceiving of them as being higher than the rest of us, “…God saw that everything was nice, but there had to be a creature who looked like me and you…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, but the oven wasn't hot enough, so the white man was born…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, but the oven was too hot now, so the black man was born…I have to build another creature…he has to get a special blow…so he took some earth, and put it in a form, an the oven was right now, so the gypsy was born…go to the top of the mountain and look, do you see this land around? Go where you like to be, 'cause you and the gypsy will be free…” Yes, that is a female singing, the indomitable Inga Rumpf!
from the LP Illusions on a Double Dimple, Harvest Records, 1974
Indisputably one of the most underrated bands from their era, German prog monsters Triumvirat crafted intricately woven soundscapes worthy of their own lazer light shows, having a sound that was equal parts Yes & ELP but inimitably their own; arguably, they outdid ELP at their own game, and somehow came away with catchier tunes also, in my humble opinion. As was the case with countless European crews at that time, all the musicians heard here spilled over with prodigious talent, but Triumvirat always managed to insert a bit of a campfire vibe inside those monolithic halls of keyboards and electronics. This album and the one after it, Spartacus, have provided many a night’s soundtrack for Halo sessions on the X-Box.
from the LP Resa Mot Okänt Mål, Silence Records, 1971
I happen to be lucky enough to live in an area where the “back to the earth” movement of the late ‘60s is still alive & well, always looming just over the front range to remind me that, no, indeed, I don’t “have” to conform to the norms laid out for me in our modern social world if I choose not to; frankly, these folks are the real deal too, be it the ashrams, the grow community, or the folks that just get together up there and buy property to live on with their friends---it’s downright tempting, I gotta tell ya, because it aint like the old days…those naïve ideals died hard. Most of these folks have cars, electricity, running water (although some definitely don’t have all the above); shit, you even see some cable satellite dishes hanging precariously off the side of yurts man, no bullshit. The deal is, most also have solar panels all over the place, farm food, herbs (both special & spice rack), livestock, what have you. I fucking loathe living in the suburbs, but I’m not ready for all that just yet, ‘cause when I go “up the mountain”, man, you know I’m not gonna be coming back down all that often! This crew of Swedish acid-heads, Kebnekaise (named for the highest peak in Sweden, nice touch) really did live as a commune for a while, making some of the strangest prog rock this side of Neptune, flavored by all sorts of influences but not really sounding like any of them: a little Zeppelin here, some definite Hendrix there, perhaps Uncle Meat-era Zappa (ala “Dog Breath…”) more than anything. Yet, the way it all comes together, in an almost proto-metal fashion, is assuredly their own unique concoction that was of that moment; they forged a decidedly more Scandinavian folk path after this, their debut album. The title of this song and LP essentially means, “traveling to an unknown destination”, which suits the affair nicely; take a hit and grab the headphones!
from the LP Together, Brain Records, 1972
There were two distinct veins of krautrock, and while almost all of the tracks I’ve posted in the Honeypot thus far fall into the spacey electronic school of thought, there were a substantial number of bands which subscribed to a more Western-leaning approach, top amongst them being the Hanover, Germany-based crew Jane; basically, by any other name, this style of kraut is essentially blues-based prog rock, but the one feature which sets both Jane and others like them (Frumpy for one) apart is their insistence upon jamming at a mid-to-slow tempo, probably less of a plan than a natural outgrowth for people who were consuming entire caravans of hashish, “…when I wake up in the morning, it’s the end of the day…”! Jane never fails to deliver on a lazy afternoon, almost like they infused the proceedings with consciously positive vibrations, ably predicting both the needs & the heady nature of their audience.
from the LP Be Good to Yourself at Least Once a Day, UA Records, 1972
Though firmly tied to the core of Britain’s pub rock scene, the Welch act known simply as ‘Man’ always did seem to favor the proggy side of their identity, a leaning which may seem out of place within the narrow framework of pub rock but one which wound up defining them as the unique band of smart-asses they were. This song has far more in common with the Dead than with scene peers Brinsley Schwarz, and the more I listen to it, the more I become convinced that at least one member in Phish might very well have been listening to this album way back in the day, absorbing both the sound and overall delivery, but that’s just a hunch. Phil Ryan’s lighthearted keyboard work is at once playful & prodigious, and it’s fair to say that Man’s overall level of musicianship deserved more accolade; in fact, that entire ‘70s Welch scene which so ably combined traditional blues rock with a progged out, California jamming twist ought to be more celebrated in general. Extra points for the cheeky album title (tee hee hee), and you can’t really shake a stick at non-cryptic lyrics like, “…“I like to eat bananas, ‘cause they got no bones; I like marijuana, ‘cause it gets me stoned…” !!!
from the LP Meddle, Harvest Records, 1971
This song is the definitive apex of space rock, voyaging free from gravity throughout the universe, traversing the windswept ice deserts of Saturn and trawling the depths of Venus’ dark indigo seas, bathing in dense layers of atmospheric sound which can leave the truly stoned individual who listens to this with headphones on wondering if they have, indeed, momentarily left the Earth---which I have to presume was the ultimate goal of space rock in the first place, right?! Floyd had tread into these waters before, albeit much more briefly (i.e. “Astronomy Domine” or “Interstellar Overdrive”), but never had they created such a mesmerizing opus as this, cinematic in both scope and delivery. It all begins with what sounds like the sonar or radar on a submarine, pinging the depths to let you know just how deep we’re gonna go; the actual noise you hear was generated by patching a friggin’ grand piano into a rotating Leslie amp, typically only done with Hammond organs at that time. The track moves through several suites, giving the listener the impression of motoring around the interplanetary atmos in a small craft, passing through a variety of colors & environments, with not a single dull moment to be found within the entire 23+ minutes of epic madness. This piece made it very clear that Pink Floyd still had a lot to say, and didn’t they go on to prove that assumption right!
from the LP The Roaring Silence, Warner Bros. Records, 1976
A few moths ago I was padding around the kitchen, stoned out of my gourd and preparing some of my special mac-n-cheese (I include a dab of bacon grease & some goat cheese in with the regular cheese), when my cell phone rang & it was my mom calling from her cell phone---a very rare thing. I answered to her ranting about one of modern rock’s funniest quandaries: “…you gotta help me out here, what in the hell are they saying in this song…”? At which point she cranked the volume up in her car so I could make out the song which was giving her such a problem, and a big baked grin spread across my face the moment the track was clear and she continued on with her issue, “…now, I know he can’t be saying ‘douche’, but I swear to God, I’ve been turning it up the last few times I’ve heard this on the radio and it’s just been driving me crazy…what the hell is he talking about?!” This number, written & originally performed by Bruce Springsteen, is probably one of the most commonly misquoted songs in rock history, with most people continuing to sing the wrong lyrics even after learning the correct ones, because it’s funner (I realize that’s not a word). The actual lines read, “…revved up like a deuce…”, referring to a 1932 Ford hot rod, although one has to think that Manfred Mann tried pretty damn hard to make it sound like he was saying, “…wrapped up like a douche…” I can clearly see my mom driving around with a confused look on her face, driving her nuts each time she heard this song until she just had to call me up. She does really enjoy that song overall though, and my guess as to why that might be the case centers on my own favorite lines in the song, “…mama always told not to look into the eyes of the sun, but mama, that’s where the fun is…” Today is her birthday, and although we’ve gone through our ups & downs, I have to say that, all things considered, I am a very lucky boy to be able to call her my mom. So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!
from the LP Benefit, Chrysalis Records, 1970
Ever since VH1 aired those “History of Metal” documentaries (ad infinitum), in which they have a montage of several noted musicians bemoaning Tull’s winning of the first ever Grammy for heavy metal band in the late ‘80s, it’s downright uncanny how many people I’ve come across who suddenly hate Tull and have only this example to show as evidence---really? You really love and respect the bloody, buggery Grammys enough to write off the work of an incredible band just due to the panel of voters being clearly confused as to what constitutes ‘heavy metal’? I think not…but, of course, if you are a faithful addict of the Honeypot here, I have to presume you aren’t hung up on fucktarted stuff like that; I mean, loathe Tull for the right reasons, like, perhaps Ian Anderson’s voice creeps you out too much to be able to enjoy the music, or because your entire family was murdered by a roving pack of homicidal flautists when you were a child, but not because of some lame award show. This pace-shifting track is a great example of what Tull does best: weaving stony hard rock licks with progressive folky themes, all tied together with Anderson’s daunting flute. The sage advice our young student receives is solid wisdom for all times, “…I have a lesson that I must impart to you; it's an old expression, but I must insist it's true…jump up, look around, find yourself some fun, no sense in sitting there hating everyone….” Amen to that!
from the LP You, Virgin Records, 1974
If there was a lifetime achievement award given to the most psychedelically altered band ever, the intergalactic teapot of so-called “pothead pixies” we know as Gong would surely be among the front runners, giving lysergic swimming pools like Hawkwind and the Grateful Dead a genuine run for their money. Formed around the time of the 1968 student revolution in France, Gong was ultimately the idea of Aussie ex-pat Daevid Allen & his then girlfriend and British ex-pat, Gilli Smyth; they were forced to flee during the riots, & wound up encamped on the Balearic island of Mallorca, finding other hippie musicians (they apparently discovered saxophonist Didier Malherbe living in a cave there…) while ingesting copious amounts of hashish and mushrooms--- it was during those months spent out of his mind that Allen created all the mythology that would follow Gong until his departure. This is actually the last Gong release he appeared on, and his influence here had been much diminished, the band replacing his tongue-in-cheek humor with a greater emphasis on synthesizers & spacey atmospherics; no worries though, the music is just as incredible as ever, slowly building steam until around five & a half minutes in when the train goes completely off the tracks, into a wormhole that projects you into a parallel universe, for a moment…no, really. Don’t believe me? Grab your bong and your headphones, then tell me otherwise!
from the LP Cottonwood Hill Bellaphon Records, 1970
