By this stage in the game, we might well have assumed that the glory-days of ‘60s garage/psych excavations are well and truly over (at least with regards to the US and UK). I mean, surely by now even the most dogged collectors and researchers of such material must have felt their brains finally turning to mush as they cue up that only-known-copy acetate of the 84,000th gang of Arkansas teenagers to knock out a shaky Bo Diddley rip-off in 1966 and/or the 604th mob of swinging London toy-town chancers. The well is dry, the dust is toxic, the ruins are earmarked for demolition, and the vast majority of more canny comp-lords have long since moved on to play and pillage amongst the relatively untouched realms of regional ‘70s heavy rock.

(Expect that market in turn to bottom out in the next year or two, given the speed with which it’s being exploited, and, with outsider punk, post-punk and ‘80s goth already being strip-mined from the other direction, where can they run to after that? God help the poor lost souls, they might have to start listening to music from non-English speaking countries, or stuff that’s not white guitar rock, if you can imagine such a thing..)

BUT, we would do well to remember the first rule of any form of retrospective cultural obsession: THERE IS ALWAYS MORE.

Just as the last stragglers in ‘60s-ville prepare to pack their bags and move on though, Ace Records have come out of nowhere and dropped ‘Golden State Psychedelia’, a collection of largely unheard recordings made on-spec for potential sale to labels and distributors at Leo Kulka’s Golden State Recorders studio in San Francisco between ’66 and ’69. The only familiar name here to genre fans will be The Gants (of “I Wonder” non-fame), with the other tracks consisting of largely or entirely unknown outfits, and - take a deep breath here folks – the bulk of this stuff is *really good*.

Beginning in eye-opening fashion with a grizzled, proto-Hawkwind intro burn, The Goody Box’s ‘Blow Up’ explodes into a delightfully punkoid Standells stomp, and many of the following numbers here provide a similarly thrilling bolt from the blue for long-jaded garage fans, running the gamut from The Carnival’s hyperactive choral psyche (which sounds a bit like The Fifth Dimension played at the wrong speed) to the bleary-eyed dawn-after-a-night-lost-in-the-forest atmos of The Bristol Boxkite’s superbly desolate ‘Sunless Night’.

Lashings of PROPER PSYCHE follows, as the faux-communal freak out vibes of The Immediate Family’s ‘Rubaiyat’ open up like a goldleaf sunflower into a chorus melody that could slay saints; joint male/female vox enliven the punked up Jefferson Airplane stylings of The Short Yellow, whilst the aptly named Celestial Hysteria come on like a witchy, female-fronted Iron Butterfly. Actually, it is the Airplane influence can be felt most strongly felt throughout this comp – as I suppose is only natural, given the time and place in which these tracks were recorded. If nothing else, this seemingly encouraged the participation of a number of ballsy, deep-voiced female vocialists in the bands represented here, which is certainly a welcome development, with The Seventh Dawn’s ‘Don't Worry Me’ in particular standing out as a dead ringer for a lost Great Society recording.

Best of all though is ‘Fuck For Peace’, as performed by “Magician” – an absolutely first rate fucked up, drug-freak hipster nightmare blaster, about as wilfully uncommercial as you’d expect of a group who seemingly rocked up at a pro studio in 1968 and start dropping the F-word over blasts of fuzz-tone that sound like a cat frying against an electrified wire fence.

I’d continue with “…and that’s just the first half!”, but, to be honest with you, the track list here is somewhat front-loaded; additional cuts from many of the acts mentioned above betray a more-of-the-same / deliberate B-side quality, but nonetheless, at least two thirds of the cuts here are keepers, which is a frankly astonishing feat for a never-before-heard garage comp in 2016.

Historically speaking, the Golden State material presents a fascinating insight into a sub-set of professional-ish musicians (well, I mean, not regional high schoolers at any rate) who still had one foot in the producer/studio owner-guided, Top 40-orientated pop scene, whilst the toes of the other curled outward toward the new world of the ostensibly ‘underground’ psychedelic ballroom culture that was exploding just across town, bridging the transition toward rootsy, album-orientated Woodstock-era rock that would render these kind of colourful, three minute psychesploitation smilers a terminally square anachronism by the close of this comp's timeframe.

Happily, the results of this aesthetic mix-up proves exciting and unpredictable enough to delight and confound even today, serving to remind us – if only for a minute or two here and there - just how rich and unhinged and exciting all that Nuggets/Pebbles stuff was back when we heard it for the first time all those years ago.

Sounding at its best moments like ‘Epitaph For a Legend’ force-fed through a letterbox of jittery Nuggets bounce, this is probably my favourite psyche comp since Now-Again’s fabulous Forge Your Own Chains, and come to think of it, that one was mainly a ‘70s affair, so… I think that makes this the best purely ‘60s comp in donkey’s years. Just remember, the next time you don't quite have the heart to give ‘Back From The Grave # 15' that third listen it probably deserves - THERE IS ALWAYS MORE.

Buy directly from Ace Records.

Labels: best of 2016, comps & reissues, garage

I Like All This Stuff! Part # 3

The Barbaras

Some geeky lookin’ guys, all rejoicing in those endearingly whiny voices that as a non-American I thought only belonged to comic relief characters in teen movies, The Barbaras are possessed of a singular vision of homemade pure pop Or rather, a not at all singular vision, since heavy elements of such are creeping in all over the map, particularly with groups like Smith Westerns etc…. but I think it’s The Barbaras who are perhaps tking this notion furthest and doing it best. What notion, you ask? Well “Budget Spectorisms” proclaims their myspace headline, and that’s hard to beat as a two word descriptor. For yes, unlike scary uncle Phil’s productions, there is usually a rock band heart still beating behind The Barbaras songs, but beyond that they sound like they’re way into some wonderful and strange ‘studio as instrument’ perfectionism… only without the studio. It’s a fine sound they’ve got going, sounding psychedelic by accident rather than by intention, with just enough bubblegum rock n’ roll backing to keep things solid, but balanced out by vocal harmonies, overdriven xylophones and bouncing, lurching, cosmic sugar. Mini pop symphonies hewn from the same sonic infatuation experiments that Spector and Brian Wilson used to define the sound of ‘60s pop, but without all the sleaze, egomania and cynicism that followed, all sounding like it’s being worked out with just a tape recorder, some outboard effects and the contents of a school music room. It’s terrific songs like ‘Flow’, ‘Topsy Turvy Magic’ and ‘Heaven Hangs’ that really seal the deal though – beautiful, straight-faced, innocent odes to the joys of looking at yr girl’s hair and visiting her house, with real world creepiness left over the hills and far away. So well do these guys capture a 21st century geeky boy equivalent of The Crystals and Ronettes Wagnerian teen-romance universality, it’s hard to imagine them ever getting wrecked or cracking dirty jokes or hanging around with Jay Reatard or any of the other stuff that 21st century geeky boys in bands like this presumably do. Lovely, lovely stuff from a simpler, happier world that you’ll want to file next to Bob B. Soxx & The Blue Jeans instead of Psychedelic Horseshit.

http://www.myspace.com/thebarbaras


Fergus & Geronimo

More atavistic ‘60s purity reasserting itself here I think – Ruan of ‘Nick Thinks’ recommended these guys in the comments after my last post, and good grief, I nearly fell off my seat when I got back from the pub and hit the link. Fergus & Geronimo are, I’m assuming, a kind of vocalist & keyboard/instruments duo from Denton, Texas, and OMG, they’re AMAZING! Everything about their sound communicates a love of early ‘60s soul, but rather than the tedious, gurning, horrid pastiche that you’d fear might result from the meeting of soul homage and lo-fi white boy capers, this music sounds fresh as the breeze – foot-stomping, up-with-people love songs carrying that same unquestionable FUCK YEAH spirit as vintage Sam Cooke and Otis Redding. So ok, maybe some random kid from Texas stretching his voice to hit the high notes doesn’t equal the greats, and some guy with a casio and a tambourine doesn’t equal Tamla Motown, but they’ve got the feeling and they’re putting in the fucking effort to make it work when no one else is even daring to try, and that’s what counts – an out-of-time blast of jump blues, gospel honesty, pop melody, and now with added punk rock, as righteous as a true love’s kiss.

http://www.myspace.com/fergusgeronimo


Pens

For a thoroughly scrappy DIY trio who started playing out in London scarcely more than a year ago, Pens have gone pretty far pretty quick – a US tour, an album forthcoming album on LA label De Stijl, name dropped in all the right places… we could be seeing the crest of another tedious Vivian Girls / Wavves style hype washout here, but let’s not dwell on such things. Pens absolutely killed when I saw them at that Upset The Rhythm thing on the Old Kent Road a few months back – definitely the best band I saw there, although I never would have expected record labels and tastemakers start agreeing with me about stuff like that, y’know? With one foot in the same deconstructionism and 100% rejection of book-learned male musical orthodoxy as The Corey Orbison and Ethical Debating Society, Pens are a thoroughly self-taught, self-sufficient proposition, banging it out with a raw, organically developed thunk, shaved of the artificial barriers of chops and reference points for some direct anger/noise/fun/listener/hit/face connection, if you will. Added to that, they’ve got a big, fuck-off metal-derived noise of distortion pedal casio and viciously fuzzed guitar to fall back on, and a really winning pop sensibility that becomes clear on repeated listens, from Troggs/Monks style love chants to fascinating densely-packed, ambiguous urban chaos laments – that’s CONTENT by any other name, chaps. At their best, Pens is like the kind of The Fall that every forty-five year old bloke ever bangs on about, only it’s a three-headed girl and it’s happening now. We’ll see what transpires, but world-beating, potentially. Did I really just say “urban chaos laments”? – urgh, I need a holiday.

http://www.myspace.com/penspenspenis


Mazes


Also currently turning up on all the right rackety bills and picking up a fair amount of UK press, it’s nice to discover that unassuming home-recording trio Mazes are actually pretty good. Guided By Voices and The Clean are the self-acknowledged chief reference points here, and whilst obviously Mazes aren’t remotely as revelatory as either of those groups, theirs is a straight up blend of roaring, rough-hewn subterranean power-pop that hits all the right buttons. At worst, file under “thoroughly satisfactory”, and at best, songs like "Bethesda" are f-ing superb; strong song-writing, goofy immediacy and a killer sound that recalls GBV’s ‘Propeller’; crashing drums, churning guitars, clear vocals and EQ-pushing skree – the kind of totally efficient blare that makes you wonder why any self-respecting guitar/bass/drums band would feel the need to venture beyond the 4-track or do overdubs. But then of course, you just need to listen to any number of crappy, unlistenable 4-track bands out there to remind yourself that, oh yeah, that’s what studios are for. Mazes are just getting it right, that’s all, and god bless ‘em for that.

http://www.myspace.com/mazesmazesmazes



The Sock Puppets

I’ll admit there’s maybe a little bit of self-interest here, as The Give It Ups are playing with these guys in Copenhagen next week, but heck, that aside, I really like ‘em! Full of enthusiasm, and coming from the punkier end of European indie-pop (my favoured end), they remind me of a rougher, lo-fi Those Dancing Days, with swearing and shouting and metronomic drums. Thumbs up to all that, needless to say! It occurs to me I don’t actually know much Danish music… hopefully our forthcoming holiday can help rectify that.

http://www.myspace.com/socksandpuppets



The Traditional Fools

Ah, The Traditional Fools! You know what you’re getting with a name like that. Idiocy with a pedigree. Looking back over these posts, I guess I’ve been heavily hinting at the notion that all this stuff is kinda modern day garage rock, perhaps to the point of tedium. The great thing is, this is not so much through direct imitation and pastiche, ala the ‘80s Garage Revival (who always tended to be overproduced and have 3 minute+ songs anyway), but simply because it’s just coming from the same place and speaking the same language as all those legendary teenage cavemen. Listening to the second volume of Pebbles the other way, it suddenly struck me that cuts like ‘Feathered Fish’ by the Sons of Adam and ‘You Rub Me The Wrong Way’ by The Roads, (along with any other punk-ass ‘60s relics that happen to be free of the usual period tells like harmony backing vox, wiggy organ etc.), could just as easily have been made in 2008 as 1968, but probably NOT at any point in between. Surely this forty year disjuncture is unprecedented. I mean sure, people go about reviving moribund musical styles ‘till they’re blue in the face, and that’s great… but for a whole generation to end up sounding *exactly* like their grandparents, without even particularly trying to? That’s just weird. Further evidence can be gained from the fact that if you’d told me that The Traditional Fools’ killer version of Love’s ‘Flash On You’ was taken from a long lost ’65 bootleg of Arthur Lee and co, I’d probably have taken you on your word, been flabbergasted by it’s noise and ferocity, and begged you for a copy on bended knees. But I don’t have to beg, because The Traditional Fools (featuring current it-dude Ty Seagull) are here, and they’re drinking beer and growing beards, and making funny skateboarding based videos, and probably playing the beach party near you, if you live where they live. Alright! Isn’t this so much more fun than when everybody was trying to be like Shellac? And it’s easier too – nobody needed the second-string Albinis, but every town should have some Traditional Fools.

http://www.myspace.com/thetraditionalfools

Labels: Fergus and Geronimo, garage, I like, Mazes, Pens, punk, soul, The Barbaras, The Sock Puppets, The Traditional Fools

I Like Thee Oh Sees.

Although it passed me by when it first appeared last year, ‘The Master’s Bedroom Is Worth Spending a Night In’, debut LP from Thee Oh Sees, John Dwyer’s latest assault on the world’s sensibilities, has recently come back outta nowhere (or “the internet” as we call it these days) to claim a place as one of my, like, totally favourite things of recent months.

(I know they’ve got a new album out on (where else?) In The Red soon and/or now, but I’ve not heard it yet, so for now I’ll keep on talking about their old one if that’s alright with everyone.)

Like many others I suspect, I’ve been a bit hot/cold on Dwyer’s previous bands, as experienced via the garage/noise of The Coachwhips and the noise/noise of Pink & Brown. Listening to both of those groups, I felt a mixture of respect for Dwyer’s pure energy in honing in on exactly the kind of demented, unconventional sound he was after, and disappointment that the results were often so chaotic, inconsistent and self-sabotaging. With Thee Oh Sees though, he’s shifted focus quite a bit, playing to his sonic strengths and really hitting the jackpot, letting loose a beautifully skewed mess of jangling psychedelic rock n’ roll, resurrecting the spirit of the earliest 13th Floor Elevators material and splicing in strains of mutant rockabilly and contemporary noise-rock thunder, equal parts melody and chaos over a relentless party-time backbeat, nailing an absolute killer sound.

Perhaps ironically for a band with it’s roots in San Francisco, Thee Oh Sees sometimes seem to be aiming at an ideal of psychedelia that draws a direct line between basic, backwoods rock n’ roll and total whacked out strangeness, writing the unnecessary baggage of the British invasion, folk-rock and hippie blues-jam phases out of history entirely. The sound of weird, sub-beatnik kids sticking forks in their third eyes back when everybody else was still wearing matching stripy shirts and playing ‘Louie Louie’. Barring the odd Townshend-derived riff, tambourine and some faint ‘we-listened-to-Dylan-on-acid-and-it-was-awesome’ Elevators-esque folk vibes, a lot of these Oh Sees songs sound like some kinda freaky thing that might have been birthed had the boys down at Link’s three-track shack just thrown caution to the wind and got waaaay out there one night.

A good dose of Dwyer’s lunatic-with-a-megaphone distorted vocals have survived from Coachwhips, but here they’re translated for the human race by co-vocalist Brigid Dawson, the two voices more often than not coalescing into an uncanny, genderless alien howl, framing a seemingly endless series of deliciously strange psych-pop readymades and surfy Monks/Seeds groove-stomps. You probably won’t get any terribly deep lyrical sartori from this Oh Sees album, but the odd snatch of vocab and titles like “Ghost In The Trees” and “Graveyard Drug Party” combine with the juggernaut of sound to tell you everything you need to know about the kind of scene being explored here.

Everything in Thee Oh Sees world comes served via an overdriven tube amp roar, slathered in slapback echo and tremolo. Almost every song jumps into life from a swamp of murky, delayed clatter, a ubiquitous “1,2,3,4!” sounding like it’s being beamed in from a distant ham radio, before the frantic rhythm section lays down the law and Dwyer’s applaudably demented, wild man guitar-playing proceeds to steal the show, slicing his way through Troggs-worthy hulk riffs, twangy jack-in-the-box rock n’ roll leads, pure destructo noise and endless fried solos with all the restraint of a kid on xmas morning.

For all the nerve-rattling racket though, these tracks are always accompanied by a tune to write home about, a pre-verbal yellalong chorus and the kind of honest-to-god crowd-pleasing hooks that most straight-laced garage bands would die for. Opener “Block Of Ice” and definitive dilated pupil girl-ode “Maria Stacks” present the band at their pop-est, like some inexplicably amazing two minute epiphanies you might find buried deep on a ‘Psychedelic Experience’ comp or ‘Pebbles Vol#36’, and proceed to obsess over for years. Longer groove-based cuts like “Two Drummers Disappear” sound like they have their root in some absolute killer rehearsal jams - ones that were WORTH KEEPING, would you believe - and even the more abstract items, such as the perplexing “Visit Colonel”, featuring as it does a roar of sound that makes me fear I’m about to be run down by a train every time I play in on my earphones, still rope in a melody I could probably hum for you, had I not let all the other competing Oh Sees melodies bounce happily around my brain for so long.

Across this album’s whole forty something minutes, only penultimate track “Quadrospazzed” begins to lose focus and run out of steam, and the closing “Koka Kola Jingle” makes up for it, a beautifully wasted, barely there lament, hinting at an entirely different aspect to the band’s music, before ending proceedings, as is only right & proper, with a resigned, echo-wrecked guitar drop/plug pull. Sadly you’ll have to add in the closing footsteps leaving the recording booth yourself, but no matter, ‘The Master’s Bedroom..’ still evidences a plain fantastic hit-rate for music this essentially spontaneous and crazed.

Thee Oh Sees is timeless, damaged freak music of a kind that’ll have 70 year old weirdos chortling for joy and 20 year old squares turning pale and reaching for the pause button. This one stands alongside those Greg Ashley solo discs, Oneida, Dead Meadow, Animal Collective and The Heads ‘Undersided’ on the long-list of my favourite psych-rock albums of the decade.

Mp3s>

Maria Stacks
Two Drummers Disappear


Thee Oh Sees myspace.

Buy this album from Norman.

Download some rare Oh Sees singles from the increasingly unbeatable Pukekos.

Labels: garage, I like, Psychedelia, punk, Thee Oh Sees