Arnold Layne by The Pink Floyd (as they were originally called) was the song that opened me to the world of sixties psychedelic music way back when. However, even my introduction to that song came about from being familiarised with another song by them, "The Gnome". At the time of hearing "The Gnome", I was listening to a lot of early nineties indie and the remnants of my passion for rock and metal from that time. I was sitting in the back row of the school chapel with an old school friend and he passed over one of his ear-buds and told me to listen. It is hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that excited me so much about the sound but, retrospectively, I have the feeling that it was the melodic and lyrical innocence of the whole thing. I had, and still have,the feeling that a lot of music relies on the cool factor (image, fashion and relevance to modernity) and this bothers me somehow because if all music relied on being rated for it's coolness, there would be little worth listening to. So, when you hear something like "Pipers At The Gates Of Dawn", you are immediately thrust into a world where you don't have to feel self conscious or overly aware of your immediate surroundings; you are in a timeless universe where you are drawn into the here and now of your own consciousness and not the here and now of earthly fashions and superficial pretense (I am very much aware of the risk in using the word pretense at the end of such a sentence but any other way of saying this fails me). With reference to Arnold Layne, why should a song about a pervert who steals clothes from women's clothes-lines still sound so perfect after all these years? I can't articulate what I think I know very well so I will leave that up to you to ponder upon: 
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Vinyls by these guys were in abundance when I was growing up and you could usually pick one up in fairly good nick for a couple of quid, and thiat is why I have included them in this set of blogs. The Moody Blues, as far as I know, have never been considered a cool band, but luckily that doesn't mean anything at all as coolness is usually decided on by idiots. The Moody Blues were an extremely prolific and talented outfit with heaps of creativity and stylistic nuances. They are often overlooked by people looking back to the sixties for their muse as, just with modern music, retrospective music consumption often tends to follow a set of rules which are meaninglessly fashionable. The Moody Blues transcend all of this by being a warm, sincere band with a lot of integrity which is evident in everything from the beautiful album artwork to the loving care with which each song has been written and arranged. In an age when sincerity and idealism have become dirty words to some, music like this can provide a very potent antidote. It is often very thoughtful and the albums are oftentimes punctuated with spoken word "poetry" which may sound a little hippyish to some but will suit others more than just fine. Due to the fact that there are gems on all of their albums, it was incredibly tricky to choose a song to introduce so I settled on the first one I thought of, which happens to be tinted with a nice shade of psychedelic. The song, "Dear Diary", is from their 1969 album, "On The Threshold of a Dream".

A few posts back, I did a blog on Jeff Lynne's lesser known band "The Idle Race" but since adding the "and not" part to the title of my blog. next to the word obscure, I feel more liberated to include the band that made him famous, "The Move". It is almost impossible to avoid the more comercially known music during this particular series of blogs as these are what formed the springboard into my lesser-known musical affectations. There is, of course, the chance that somebody happens across the blog that has never heard of The Move, in which case they may well be rejoicing at this point. "Flowers In The Rain" was probably the first Move song I heard when I was about seven or eight; it was yet another song that was on the compilation album "Savile's Time Travels" (Nonce or not, I won't go into the whole Savile debacle which I have learned about since being abroad). The Move are one of those instantly appealing bands with insanely catchy melodies and simple, endearing lyrics yet somehow, they have longevity too, and many years later they still get their listening dues. I only wish they had been a tad more prolific but alas, Lynne seemed too creatively twitchy to be anchored to one band brand for too long. I have chosen "Kilroy Was Here" which references common grafiti from back in the day (tags of antiquity) and is, if possible, one of their lesser known songs. Enjoy:

I started writing this post before setting off work this morning and after writing enthusiastically for some time, I accidentally clicked the wrong button and erased my entire post. Indignant and disgusted, I thought I'd better leave it until later, lest my laptop takes a trip out the window, so now is later  Anyway, anyone familiar with the Small Faces and their album "Ogden's Nut Gone Flake" may be familiar with the English used in the title. I managed to procure the original tobacco tin-shaped vinyl back when I was a teenager though the record itself was a little ragged, I was happy to have the sleeve in good nick. This album got played to death by myself and some of my friends, who also had it, back in those days. One side is standard Small Faces, so very good, but the other side is completely unique and one of my favourite themed pieces of all time. It is essentially a story of a guy called Happiness Stan who goes out looking for the "other half of the moon and dangly", because he can only see a half moon. I don't think I have ever used the word delightful to describe anything in my life but I can't think of anything more appropriate for this. The narration was done by a fella called Stanley Unwin who developed an entirely new way of speaking English which he employed for story-telling. As the story unfolds, it is punctuated with songs from The Small Faces alluding to the story. There is no way you can listen to this story without being incredibly happy afterwards so I recommend it as a serious antidote to the blues. This is a very special album and I wholeheartedly love it! Here is one of the more psychedelic extracts:

As part of a series of blog posts I intend to write over the next few posts, I present you with the first in a feature I am calling "where it all began" (as pitifully unimaginative as it sounds). The songs from these posts represent the records and musicians that formed the basis of my passion for music and artists are still come back to time and time again. The universe tends to devise ever-increasingly cunning and wicked plans to steal my time away from me so I will post as often as possible but they may end up being every couple of days for the time being. I would like to present to you a song from The Nice; taken from their 1967 debut album "The Thoughts Of Emerlist Davjack". Featuring the guy who literally played organ with knives, Keith Emerson, before his sojourn into Emerson, Lake and Palmer territory. This was one of the first records I bought and I still love the uniqueness of the whole thing. I have many theories concerning the creative epicness of this era of music which I hope to touch on in the future but for a start, bathe your ears in the aural delight which is "The Flower King of Flies":

When I was back in Blighty for the first time in many years a coupla years ago, I was in a friend's car taking his two chidlers to school and he was playing The Monk's "Cuckoo" over the sound system. I was very familiar with the Monks but not so with this song; what will make this song forever memorable to me is the hyperactivity it brought out in the kids, Leon and Oscar, and they reminded how songs like this are meant to be listened to. It was like flipping a switch as soon as they heard the words cuckoo, with the youngest especially banging his big kid head and rolling his eyes around his skull and chanting the lyrics with his kid lisp; it had me in stitches and got me thinking that if the next generation are going to be brought up on nonsense, better this nonsense than any other the hit-parade has to offer:

I bought this album out of curiosity, not expecting much, and was more than pleasantly surprised. Norman Greenbaum, it turns out, was far from a one-trick-pony and had a very individual sound and style which is not very well-known. He was, as is often the case, a victim of one song's success in that not a lot else by him is known or acknowledged. The whole album is full of catchy melodies and often strange lyrics and is fast growing on me. I think it is a keeper! I have chosen Marcy as it is the song which immediately caught my attention; the synthesiser, to my ears, sounds incredibly modern for 1969 but I have no idea what they used to achieve that sound (I would welcome any info on that actually; could it have been a moog?). All I know is that I like it a lot. A good retrospective of Norman Greenbaum's career is currently available on c.d. at a reasonable price and is a good and cheaper alternative to trying to find the original vinyls (unless you get lucky in a second-hand store somewhere):

The Byrd's were prolific Dylan coverers back in the day and they did covers the way covers are meant to be done i.e. in the style which is typical of the band doing the covering and not simply imitation in order to make a few cheap bucks. This is one of my favourite of said covers, not because it is exceptionally extravagant or technically superior but because it is a simple and honest rendition of a simple and honest song. Enjoy:

The sentiments brought to attention in this song are far too easy to dismiss as hippy nonsense; I say see past the common inability to embrace innocence and idealism. It's nice to let the mask drop every now and then  :

Love is but the song we sing,
And fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Know the dove is on the wing
And you need not know why
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
Some will come and some will go
We shall surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moments sunlight
Fading in the grass
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
If you hear the song I sing,
You must understand
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
Right now Right now!

This is by far my favourite Steve Harley and Cockney Rebel number. So sublimely orchestrated and performed, it is the most epic psychedelic glam rock number you will ever hear. I vaguely recall my first contact with this song came about from watching the movie "Velvet Goldmine" with Ewan McGregor; if my memory serves me well, he played an acoustic version of this song in the movie. The build up to the orchestral and choiral crescendo is goose-bump inducing. Enjoy:

Two posts ago, I presented Green Tambourine, a beautiful psychedelic pop classic and briefly mentioned this song, "Through With You". This shows a completely different side to the band. This is truly great yet unsurprisingly relatively unknown compared to to Green Tambourine as it is epic in length (almost ten minutes), and seeing as almost the whole world suffers from some kind of attention deficit disorder, the two minute pop numbers will always win in the end. If you can trip out to this song long enough, you might just get your mind blown just over half way through the song when the psychedelic oddness really kicks in before slowly building it's way back to the starting riff to complete the circle. 

I had the pleasure of seeing The Monks live a short time before the banjo "player" died in a small church in a small town in Austria. They were a bunch of guys maybe in their seventies by this time, but you couldn't believe how much energy they could muster from themselves and the crowd. The Monks were all about creating a mood through rhythm and repetition and it worked very well for them. Like many American and English bands of the sixties, they found fame in Germany first; many bands never got that reaction where they came from. For many years that was also true of The Monks but then they found themselves, unexpectedly, being resurrected back in the nineties (I believe) where they became popular with a cross-section of the U.S. youth and then other parts of the world. I like The Monks, not because they were great songwriters or lyricists (there is seldom a melody or easily-identifiable structure), but because of the energy they exerted. It is very difficult to listen to them without feeling some force working on you to do something,maybe fight, maybe get drunk or maybe run a marathon. Enjoy

This is pure psychedelic pop perfection; nothing to get hung up about, just something to feel really good about. Not entirely an obscurity as The Lemon Pipers do tend to find their way onto a lot of sixties compilations, but just enough to warrant an outing on today's blog. The album of the same name, from 1967, is worth a look if you too and there really are a few cracking numbers on there that deserve more attention, particulary "Through With You", which I have various incarnations by from other bands of the era, this particular version being the smoothest of the bunch. To quote the back of the original album; "And now ladeeez and gentlemen, the Lemon Pipers will perform their big hit "Green Tambourine" for you by plucking their electric chicken, playing their stringless violin, shuffling their pack of cards, and blowing their minds. Step right up!". 

Back before T-Rex came into full camp glam being, Marc Bolan was singing with a guy named Steve Peregrin Took under the guise of Tyrannosaurus Rex. Bolan's voice was distinguishable even in the early days although the music was slightly more low-key and minimalist. Theme-wise, as you might be able to guess from his band mate's name, the music tended to take more of a fantasy/fairytale direction, which is great for anyone who grew up getting stoned by both psychedelia and Tolkien. Availability of these early albums is very good these days and I managed to pick them all up as double albums, first on cassette and then later on c.d. "Cat Black" was always my favourite number from those records so that is the one I have chosen to present to you (labelled as Marc Bolan T Rex on this particular YouTube video). It has always been very difficult for me to make out the lyrics when Marc Bolan sings, such was his unique way, so just in case any of you have the same problem, I have provided the lyrics which are, incidentally, pretty cool:

Catblack the wizard's hat
Spun in lore from Dagamoor
The skull of jade was pearl inlaid
The silks, skin spun, repelled the Sun
A tusk of boar with dwarfish awe
Sobs on the door where stood before
A mountain man with sky-blue teeth
Upon his head a python's wreath
A deer he slew in the dawning's dew
Her heart was a dagger for a murderer's brew.

A black toad of jet on a sill cast in brass
Portrayed for his sight mysteries of the past
A yellow orphan dancer rich in Nature's costly gold
Wept for the jailer of time to bless her old
But his kiss he held and shadowed for the spell of nights are strong
And spiralled like a whirlwind in the childhood of a song

Catblack the wizard's back
Daubed in doom in his tounge tombed room
We of the wind must rejoice and speak
And kiss all our starbrowed brothers on the cheek.

Back at the beginning when I started blogging (if that's what it is : ) ), I posted the song "Keep Your Mind Open" by the American "Kaleidoscope"; so having dedicated the last few posts to folk and country (there will be lost more to come too), I decided to get back to where I started, but this time with the British "Kaleidoscope". They have absolutely nothing to do with each other but existed on each side of the Atlantic simultaneously. This song "Flight From Ashiya" was on a rare vinyl compilation I had and lost many years ago, along with a song called "Dream For Julie", or something along those lines. Whilst not as raw as their U.S. counterparts, they have a very special psychedelic shimmer that has reverberated through my head for a decade and a half now. If you listen to the album, "Tangerine Dream", and back on their entire career, including their excursions as "Fairfeild Parlour", you might be quite surprised at how accomplished this band truly was. Melodically, they are up there with some of the best sixties bands and lyrically, they are mostly pure escapist so definitely something to lose your mind to if you need it. I have chosen the aforementioned song simply because it was the first song I heard by them and the one that made me want more (I believe my collection is complete but you can never really be sure what else is lurking in the vaults). Fasten your seat belts and let Captain Simpson take you up through the clouds on a "Flight From Ashiya":

Thought by some to be the first real rock opera, pre-dating The Who's Tommy, and considered by many to be one of the first ever concept albums, The Pretty Things strode into the sixties soundscape with a cracker any old way you wanna look at it. The album S.F. Sorrow follows the life of one Sebastian F Sorrow through his life's trials and tribulations. I heard this song on a psychedelic compilation album before eventually obtaining the album on C.D. about ten odd years ago. The acoustic strings riffing at the beginning set a really decent stage for the rhythm when it decides to kick in and I love the subtle psychedelic undertones. "From number three there came a cry, S.F. Sorrow was born!". 

I was a little stunned to hear this when I picked up the album about fifteen years back. I had heard Lemmy in his Hawkwind and Motorhead mode and loved his growl and then I heard his whisper and loved that too. Sam Gopal was the name of the percussionist in this project but you can clearly recognise Lemmy on the front cover. The album is great but nothing really stands out for me as much as this song: it has such a special undefinable shimmer and it really takes me away: a true escapist song and perfect for getting out of your head when your head is the last place you want to be. Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream with Yesterlove.

In my top ten female vocalists of all time. Great singing for me has very little to do with technical ability and a hell of a lot to do with character and charm. This is what makes a singer like Nico stand out from the crowd. She had this unique, low, smooth, husky breath of a voice and somehow she sang with incredible credibilty. This song is from the Chelsea Girl album from 1967. Some songs, like the title track, are growers so I chose this one, "The Fairest of the Seasons", as a representation due to it's instant accessibility. Look into her eyes and be hypnotised.

I was wandering through a street market in Vienna sometime back and happened upon a record stall. Not expecting to find much, I found a cd with an interesting but grainy cover. Looked at the song-titles: check (not the word "love" in every title), looked at the year: check (1970): looked at the singer's face: check (character), bought it, took it home and spent the next half an hour or so getting my mind blown away by one of the most unique voices and interesting sounds I had heard in a while. Welcome to the strange and wonderful world of Rex Holman: a true obscurity
.

Two posts ago I told you about the Bob Dylan and Phil Ochs incident:: this is the song that caused it. Dylan asked Ochs opinion on it and didn't take warmly to his criticism which lead to Ochs been slung out of the limousine. There have been a few covers of this Dylan song, including Sir James Hendrix but this is one that I first heard on a compilation album many moons ago and it still brings out the hyperactive monster in me. Enjoy a rarity from The Vacels.

 This is by far the best version of Leonard Cohen's "The Story Of Isaac" I have ever heard and it's by a chap called Roy Buchanan. The transition from the classical nylon string guitar in the introduction to the electric, coupled with the acceleration of singing gruffness will knock you out. It was done in around the mid seventies and it got me thinking; when something sounds this good from a relatively unknown artist from the seventies, how did we, as a society, become so banal as to applaud mediocrity the way we often do in modern times. Yeah, I'm grouchy today; it happens to the best of us : )

The Move, in my opinion, never played a wrong note and never wrote a duff melody. The Idle Race was more of a mixed bag in terms of musical soundscape, which is no bad thing, and Jeff Lynne brought his charm, as always, in spades to this project. With psychedelic madness like The Skeleton and the Roundabout, it teetered on the edge of the late sixties psychedelic boom, and moving into the seventies, you have incredible numbers like this, "By The Sun"; the more I hear this, I can't help wondering if System of a Down might have had a listen to this one day; I can't put my finger on it but there is definitely, to my ears, something vaguely familiar between this sound and their sound. What do you reckon?

 This was one of the tracks I recall being on Jimmy Savile's Time Travels, a compilation tape I had when I was about eight or so. It got played until it was literally worn out and was a massive stepping stone into the world of sixties music. It was certainly not unsuccessful at the time but I consider it to be an obscurity as, like many other hits of the sixties, it faded from peoples' memories over the years. To me it is near-perfect psychedelic pop, and although it might be considered kitsch by some, I'm sure they'll get over it.

 .........I wonder who it'll be tomorrow, you or me. We're all normal when we want our freedom. All a-God's chillun' gotta have their freedom!
"Forever Changes" is a perfect album in many ways and often a gateway album to the more unusual ,obscure stuff from the time. With not a single bad song, I understand why. "The Red Telephone" by Love, being my personal long-time favourite from the album,  provides a perfect harmonial contradiction between the gently orchestrated and softly sung melody, and the more sinister nature of the lyrics; "Sitting on a hillside, Watching all the people die". Arthur Lee had a psychotically psychedelic mind; of that I am sure.

This is the version of this song that brings me out in goosebumps and to many it is the definitive version; perhaps even more so than the original. There is an energy which is hard-pressed to find or define from any other of their concerts, with every beep and whistle in the right place. The Philip K. Dick-style narrative is elevated to particular intensity when compared to the campier, albeit great, original.