Chicago - Chicago Transit Authority (1969)

Dan:

I picked this album up as a result of a Down Beat story about a rock band that featured jazz charts and a horn section. Originally called the Chicago Transit Authority, the name was shortened to Chicago after the real transit agency protested. It was considered cool to name bands after cities and/or organizations. Remember Pacific Gas & Electric from the same era? How about the Miami Sound Machine from a much later era? 

The eponymous first album was a sprawling, 2-LP set, a pattern copied for Chicago II and later releases. I thought it was odd that a rock band with this format would become so popular. After the first two albums the jazz subsided, and Chicago became one of the best mainstream rock bands of all time. 

CTA kicks off with "Introduction." If not the most inspiring song title, it gives each member of the band a chance to be heard in a clever arrangement. It's not unlike a jazz band leader like Duke Ellington or Toshiko Akiyoshi calling out the soloists by name after a tune ends. 

I've never tried hard enough to distinguish between the three vocalists: keyboardist Robert Lamm, guitarist Terry Kath, and bassist Pete Cetera, who all sing great. Lamm, Kath, and brass player James Pankow are the chief songwriters. In my experience, it's rare to find a septet that shares vocal and songwriting responsibilities so equally. Somehow, they produce song after song that address a range of themes using a variety of instrumental arrangements that distinguish the band from any other. It's the perfect storm of virtuosity, arranging, lyrics, and mixture of pop and jazz sensibilities.

The three tracks on Side 3 of the LP set offer a contrast to the more conventionally programmed Sides 1 and 2. Before I learned to appreciate all the songs, my favorite track was "South California Purples," with its repeated riff and soulful vocal. It follows the guitar showcase "Free Form Guitar" (obviously a tribute to Jimi Hendrix) and precedes Steve Winwood's "I'm a Man" (one of the band's rare covers). 

Side 4 diverges even further away from popular convention. "Prologue" contains recordings taken during the protests at the Democratic National Convention held in Chicago (the city) in August 1968. "The whole world is watching" was chanted by anti-war demonstrators, and the recording is used as a prelude to "Someday" and the longer "Liberation" that closes the album. As previous posts in this blog mention, the U.S. military engagement in Vietnam was deeply divisive and fueled early progressive rock. The war weighed on the minds and sickened the hearts of my entire generation. To Chicago's (the band) credit, they confronted the controversy directly on CTA. They revisited social justice issues on Chicago II. 

As a jazz lover, I am impressed with the arranging and playing of the jazzier elements on display on CTA. This is not an awkward attempt at "fusion" or an affectation without substance. These cats could play con brio! My only regret is that they abandoned much of the jazz spirit after Chicago II. But I never begrudge a band's success, as measured by record sales. I know I'm not the target market for big record companies, and I don't plan to be anytime soon. 

Steve:

A common joke amongst music fans is that you can tell the quality of a Chicago album by how low its number is. Thus, Chicago III is de facto better than Chicago VII, and so on, and once you get into Chicago Double-Digits, watch out. My own take is that I own and enjoy to some degree all the albums through Chicago 13 (no Roman numeral for that title, I wonder why?). Most die-hards usually jump ship after Chicago XI, the last one to feature Terry Kath. I can sympathize with this point of view, as Terry was not only the band's best singer, but also one of the finest guitar players of his generation. And the proof of that is on display all across Chicago Transit Authority, the band's first album. 

Growing up, I have more memories of hearing Chicago II around the house, but I remember this one in Dan's collection as well. Funny enough, my earliest memory of this album involved my friend Tim asking me if we had a Chicago album in the house, so I pulled this one out, and he immediately pointed out the drummer photo in the gatefold, claiming that Daniel Seraphine was one of his schoolteachers. I believed him (why would he lie?) until later when I realized that at the time, he was still a full-time member of Chicago. Why would the drummer of one of the most successful bands around decide to teach junior high math classes in a Miami public school? I'm still puzzled by this. It was like the time my other friend (I had two!) Kris told me that "Open Arms" by Journey was co-written by a classmate of his, who had won a lyric-writing contest held by the band. I believed him, of course. I'm starting to think both of my friends took me for a world-class buffoon.

I don't have much else to add about Chicago Transit Authority, except to say that their first few albums (Chicago III being my personal favorite) are brimming with adventure and excitement, and benefit greatly from multiple singers/songwriters to keep things fresh -- like the Moody Blues had. Reportedly, the band held auditions for the singer of each song, regardless who wrote it - so Peter Cetera could sing a Kath song, Lamm could sing a Pankow song, Kath could sing a Lamm song, and so on. To me that demonstrates how democratic the band was, truly working together and pooling their considerable talents to find the best possible combination for maximum success.

Blind Faith - Blind Faith (1969)

Dan:

After the breakup of the supergroup Cream, Eric Clapton and Ginger Baker formed another supergroup called Blind Faith. Steve Winwood and Rick Grech made it a quartet. Any lover of Cream would try this album without hesitation, which is exactly what I did in when it came out in the U.S.. 

Pairing Winwood and Clapton was a gamble. Would they compete or get in each other's way? The gamble paid off for the classic self-titled album, after which Blind Faith disbanded and all members pursued different career opportunities. 

Blind Faith benefits the most, in my opinion, from the songwriting, singing and keyboards of Winwood. He penned "Had to Cry Today," "Can't Find My Way Home," and "Sea of Joy," arguably the best songs on the album. Clapton contributed "Presence of the Lord," and Baker is credited with the closing jam, "Do What You Like." Thrown into the middle is Buddy Holly's "Well All Right."

Two non-musical issues affect the response to Blind Faith. First, the original cover art pictured an 11-year-old nude girl, which many people (including me) considered offensive. A substitute cover (shown above) was hastily created. Reissues often returned to the original cover, piously masking the girl's breasts with hype stickers.

Second, there's a lot of overt Christianity on display, which might upset people of different faiths. But faith, blind and otherwise, is a common inspiration for music of all sorts, and "the church" has been a crucible for many blues, R&B, jazz, and rock artists. Although a more secular and inclusive set of songs might have been more "politically correct" (not a big issue in those days), I really dig the songs as expressions of faith that are different from mine. Christian music can be sanctimonious and sappy, but it can also be beseeching and heartfelt. John Coltrane's A Love Supreme would be the best evidence I know of to prove my point.

There's much to enjoy on Blind Faith: Clapton's solo on "Presence of the Lord," Grech's violin work on "Sea of Joy," the rhythmic pulse guiding "Had to Cry Today," and so on. The Holly cover and Baker's "Do What You Like" are less remarkable, but they don't diminish the album's overall impact. 

Steve:

Blind Faith is historically interesting in its teaming of multiple high-profile members in the considerable talent pool of the early British progressive rock scene. I agree with Dan that Steve Winwood emerges as the most together guy in this matchup. Clapton hadn't really found his singing or songwriting voice yet, and Ginger Baker, though a fairly decent songwriter in my opinion, chose to use his space for a proto-"In a Gadda da Vida" solo extravaganza. That left Rick Grech, the "who?" guy of the bunch, but in my world he was a key member of a super cool band (Family) that readers should check out when they can. Grech did not contribute any songs to Blind Faith, but his violin playing does shine through occasionally.  

Winwood had it all - not only a prolific songwriter, a great singer and a fine keyboardist, he could also play a mean guitar, which he does on "Had to Cry Today", holding his own in a guitar duel with "God" himself. His "Can't Find My Way Home" has become a popular standard, with recorded cover versions by Yvonne Elliman, Sneaker Pimps, Widespread Panic, Johnny Rivers, Alison Krauss, Styx, Black Label Society, Osage Tribe, Neal Morse, Joe Cocker, and the Swans, among others.

Today, Blind Faith is talked about more for what it wasn't than what it was. No, it didn't change the world, and the album still seems less than the sum of its parts, but we can still be thankful that such a convergence of talents happened at all. It's a well-rounded, compact album starring several talents at the peak of their respective powers. With Ginger Baker now gone, it's unlikely we will ever see Blind Faith II, but it's still funny to imagine what that would sound like now. This kind of thing could only happen in 1969.

Santana - Santana (1969)

Dan: 

Like many albums of the late 1960s, my memories are associated with places where I first heard them. Erie, Pennsylvania is where I place Santana's debut album. It received plenty of FM radio play, especially the single "Evil Ways." It offered an original type of fusion between rock and Latin music and signaled the beginning of one of the great bands in the history of rock music.

I have to confess that I ignored a lot of the songs on Santana except for "Evil Ways," which I really liked. When Caravanserai, Borboletta, and Welcome came out a few years later, I gave them all my attention. But I recently revisited the first album, gaining a deeper appreciation for it. For starters, I took a long look at the album cover art, which I always thought was just a portrait of a roaring lion. Look closely for yourself and you should see much more. How's that for a metaphor for discovering unheard aspects of a recording?

Musically, the key to my renewed respect for Santana is embracing Latin percussion and the vocal traditions of popular Latin music. For example, I discovered the beauty of congas and timbales, as played by both Mike Carrabello and José Chepito Areas. Appreciation comes more easily after you admit that your expertise is limited to what you already know, and you're willing to open your ears to hear things you've missed.

Of course, no assessment of Santana should exclude the monster guitarist and leader/namesake of the band, Carlos Santana. There are more long solos on the later albums, but even his fills and melody statements on Santana are attention-grabbers. 

A bit of advice to those who only know Santana through its 1999 hit "Smooth" from Supernatural. Please go back to the earlier years. They're much better on all counts than the overproduced best seller. 

Steve:

I actually didn't get this album into my collection until just a few years ago, and I've only ever heard it a handful of times. I have, however, heard Caravanserai, Welcome, Oneness, and others of that ilk many times, and prefer those. We'll get to reviews of those soon. With that kind of listening background, it's easy for me to underestimate and difficult for me to understand how groundbreaking this Santana debut must have been in 1969, even if its ambitions seem tame relative to those later achievements. While it's far from the first instance of a Latino focus in American pop music, it may represent the first strong Latino influence on progressive rock. Not only that, but this new flavor was successfully fused with a lead guitar style that was all Carlos's own, and the two were a surprising but natural fit.  

Apart from "Evil Ways", the other song I know well from Santana is "Soul Sacrifice", which was featured in the Woodstock movie. The Woodstock Festival actually preceded the release of Santana's debut album, so I can only imagine how blown away the attendees were at the time. The Columbia/Legacy CD reissue of Santana, in addition to having a nice booklet and clear sound, has three live performances from the Woodstock performance, including all 11 minutes of "Soul Sacrifice" - a great addition to the CD.

Frank Zappa - Hot Rats (1969)

Dan:

This album came to my attention courtesy of Down Beat magazine, which reviewed a lot of rock albums in the late 1960s as the popularity of jazz declined. The reviewer claimed that the orchestral harmonies on "Little Umbrellas" were on a par with those of Duke Ellington. Really? I had to hear what led the reviewer to that incredulous conclusion. 

So I bought the record and played it a lot. I accepted the comparison to Ellington, noting that Zappa had a few hundred more albums to release before getting close to the Duke. But I also fell in love with the whole album, which I would consider to be a hybrid of jazz and avant-garde rock. I didn't realize that a completely new genre of music was in my hands - Zappa! 

That may sound like hype. Who else would have a genre named after him or her? Nobody I can think of -- not even Brian Eno who created the genre of ambient music. Zappa cannot be squeezed into any existing genres. I have a relatively small Zappa collection, especially when compared to Steve's, but all my Zappa albums are different from each other. The common thread is the genius writer / instrumentalist / vocalist / producer behind it all.

Aside from "Little Umbrellas," I also get a kick out of "Willie the Pimp," growled by Captain Beefheart; "The Gumbo Variations;" and the opener "Peaches en Regalia." Of the supporting guest musicians, violinist Sugar Cane Harris makes the greatest impression on "Willie" and "Gumbo." I can't imagine these songs without him. 

Another violinist, Jean-Luc Ponty, makes a guest appearance on "It Must Be a Camel." Ponty later recorded an entire album of Zappa compositions, released as King Kong: Jean-Luc Ponty Plays the Music of Frank Zappa (1970) on the mainstream World Pacific Jazz label. In 1972, Zappa also released two albums featuring jazz-like compositions: Waka/Jawaka and The Grand Wazoo. Despite Zappa's jazz credentials, he would not pay his full dues in the jazz world but rather moved on to explore almost anything he wanted to within the Zappa genre.

Steve:

Although I consider myself just shy of being a Zappa fanatic (the real fanatics leave me in the dust), and although Hot Rats is the first Zappa album I ever heard (thanks to Dan), I've never rated it as highly as most, and it's one of the last Zappa albums I bought for my near-complete collection. Two things it lacks are the sense of daring lunacy from the early Mothers albums, and the full-bodied band sound of his early 70s jazzy bands. Even so, it's hard to dispute the incredible quality of the playing and the compositions, and I would still recommend it to the average person who's curious about Zappa and wants to see what all the fuss is about.  

As his first solo release after the breakup of the original Mothers of Invention, Hot Rats confirmed what was already obvious to those paying attention: that Zappa had the compositional and organizational talent to create quality music in whatever setting he chose. These recordings were created with a plethora of different session musicians on each track, and Zappa showed he had the knack and know-how to coax just the right performance from the pros he hired. In addition, Hot Rats featured Zappa's excellent guitar soloing more prominently than on any previous album, and his improvising skills themselves put him in an elite class of musicians. "Willie the Pimp" consists largely of a single guitar solo over a single chord, that continues to evolve and find new things to say for close to eight minutes.

My first impressions of Hot Rats include memories of the needle dropping on side 2 and hearing "Little Umbrellas" - I seem to recall Dan playing that track more than any other. It's a sneaky little tune, barely over three minutes in length, and using a weird combination of instruments to produce an exotic sound playing a Middle-Eastern chromatic melody over some jazz chords. I also remember opening the gatefold and seeing the lyrics to "Willie the Pimp" (the only track with vocals) and the name of Captain Beefheart - my first time encountering that name.  

The Moody Blues - On the Threshold of a Dream (1969)

Dan:

We both have stories to tell about The Moody Blues' On the Threshold of a Dream. As I wrote in my "Father's Story" post, I first heard this album in graduate school while I was riding the campus bus. I quickly bought the album and its sequel, To Our Children's Children's Children, which was released in in the same year. The two preceding albums (Days of Future Passed and In Search of the Lost Chord) raised grand expectations for later albums. The "purple patch" of seven classic prog albums would continue through Seventh Sojourn (1972). New albums would then resume in 1978 with Octave, but much of the past excitement was gone with the later releases. 

The blueprint established by Days of Future Passed was perfected on Threshold, which begins with a whirring mechanical sound that leads to an argument between an innocent voice and a cynical robotic voice. The disagreement is resolved by a third voice advising the ingénue to "keep on thinking free," followed by a quick launch into "Lovely to See You," a simple song brimming with optimism. The remainder of side 1 includes four songs that don't advance the narrative as much as they reinforce the positive vibes of thinking free.

None of side 1 prepares us for side 2, which is one of the Moodies' finest moments on record. "Never Comes the Day" seems to question the premises on side 1. "Never comes the day for my love and me" and "If only you knew what's inside of me now, you wouldn't want to know me somehow" are lyrics that cast doubt on the power of love, even though they're partially resolved. "We alone will be alright in the end" restores hope as long we "give just a little bit more, take a little bit less from each other tonight." The next song, "Lazy Day," digresses into mundane daily routines - a set up for what happens next. 

With no particular provocation, listeners are then seduced into a dream-like state and transported to Camelot where the magician Merlin is about to cast his spell on them. So sit comfortably and prepare for the seven wonders of the world to be laid at your feet. "The Dream" follows as a short, recited poem emblematic of Moody Blues philosophy, ending with "live hand in hand and together we'll stand on the threshold of a dream." A symphony of mellotrons then takes us on "The Voyage," and sets us down gently. The mechanical whirr returns and fades away as the album comes to a close. 

Steve:

As mentioned in my "Son's Story" post, one of my earliest memories in life was listening to "The Voyage" while using a couple of spoons to conduct the Mellotron orchestra. I'm thankful that Dan trusted me enough with his stereo to let me play his records as a young child (age 4-5). Thanks Dad!  Without you I would not be here today, publishing my crucial thoughts about this 50-year-old album with a diminishing fandom on this world-wide platform; I could just as easily be blogging about less important things like retirement savings strategies or college basketball.

On the Threshold of a Dream is a further refinement of the continuous-play, conceptual approach the band began with Days of Future Passed. The orchestral parts, accomplished on their own with In Search of the Lost Chord, now provide even smoother and deeper sonic landscapes. The dramatic opening spoken word panorama of "In the Beginning" is their most frightening piece to date, utilizing a three-dimensional sonic space that seems to occur inside your skull. The entire "Are You Sitting Comfortably" > "The Dream" > "Have You Heard Pt 1" > "The Voyage" > "Have You Heard Pt 2" sequence expands this idea to a pan-musical dimension, moving easily between proto-new age ambience, voice-of-God poetry readings, mellow folk rock, and chaotic classical music. The end of this suite (and of the album) returns to the ring-modulated hum that started it all, continuing ad infinitum in a locked groove at the end of side 2.

King Crimson - In the Wake of Poseidon (1970)

Dan:

The immediate follow-up to King Crimson's In the Court of the Crimson King was In the Wake of Poseidon, released in May 1970. The line up had changed. Peter Giles was added to relieve Greg Lake of bass responsibilities, and Keith Tippett joined as pianist. Lake retained his role as chief vocalist. Saxophonist Mel Collins joined the band as well, adding a new acoustic dimension. Guitarist Robert Fripp added Mellotron and "devices" to his arsenal while overseeing every detail of the recording and production. 

The program is punctuated by three brief "Peace" sections: "Peace - A Beginning," "Peace - A Theme," and "Peace - An End." Following the first of these is the energetic "Pictures of a City." It's an unflattering picture to say the least. The cryptic vocals precede Fripp's guitar in the first half of the song, after which matters cool down as the percussion takes over but inevitably rebuilds to a climax before the last vocal stanza, and the song crashes to a chaotic conclusion. 

In true King Crimson fashion, the chaos is followed by the beautifully lyrical "Cadence and Cascade," which segues into the epic title track. With Mellotron blaring a simple minor figure, Greg Lake offers up a spellbinding story that transports us into a Medieval fantasy world - one which is "balanced on the scales." I regard this as "cinematic" rock of a high order. It's ridiculous if you approach it literally, but profound when you let your mind conjure the images that the words and music inspire. 

After the second "Peace" interlude, "Cat Food" is served. Tippett's piano sparkles under the quizzical, almost nonsensible, words. "The Devil's Triangle" follows - a 3-part suite that begins quietly but ominously builds in intensity, culminating in a cacophonous conclusion. We're rescued from devil's triangle by the closing "Peace - An End."

Steve:

Poseidon was Fripp's attempt to hold King Crimson together following the dissolution of the original lineup, less than a year after its first album (In the Court of the Crimson King) came out. As such, it suffers the fate of being compared unfavorably to that massively original first effort. Even the flow of the album seems at first to mirror that of the debut: a loud, chaotic opener ("Pictures of a City" vs "Schizoid Man") followed by a languid ballad ("Cadence and Cascade" vs "I Talk to the Wind"), concluding with a bombastically symphonic epic of doom ("In the Wake of Poseidon" vs "Epitaph"). However, on some days I actually prefer these "copies" to the originals. "In the Wake of Poseidon" in particular has a more introspective slant than its more heroic big brother, giving it a subtler sense of despair that has aged better for me.  

Once you get past the temptation to compare Poseidon with Court, however, it's clear that King Crimson is already moving in new directions. "Cat Food" is completely out of the blue -- Keith Tippett (recently of Centipede) plays a scattered piano part that sounds like a cat running across the keys. "The Devil's Triangle" had its origins in the band's early live repertoire, as a variation on Gustav Holst's "Mars", from his suite "The Planets".  

1970-1972 saw King Crimson as a band still searching for a stable lineup and musical approach. While that stable lineup arrived in late 1972 with John Wetton and Bill Bruford anchoring the instrumental attack, the band never settled into a stable musical approach. Fripp's presence proved to be the only common element the band ever had. But this was by design, as the band name became synonymous with restless creativity and a sustained push into new combinations of players, styles and ideas.

The Grateful Dead - Live/Dead (1969)

Dan:

I discovered The Grateful Dead in my older brother's record collection. He had the first album, which I didn't really care for at the time except for the closing "Viola Lee Blues." The Grateful Dead was definitely in tune with the times, being released in 1967 just as a period of social revolution was beginning across the globe. I was busy getting married and going to graduate school, and I paid scant attention to the band's next two albums, which seemed weird to me. Of course, Anthem of the Sun and the palindromic Aoxomoxoa were weird by any standard. 

But I misunderstood that the Dead were always a band to be heard live. I discovered that by hearing the 2-LP Live/Dead, which I picked up after I left home. It was a game-changing, paradigm-shifting recording compiled from a few of the Dead's performances. My favorite tracks remain "Dark Star" and "Saint Stephen /The Eleven." It's an amazing sequence. Who else wrote rock songs in 11/8 time? Does anyone now?

As a jazz fan, I'm sure that the improvised feel of the Dead drew me to them. The term "jam band" was coined later to describe their approach, although jamming is only part of the secret sauce. (Phish is also a jam band, but totally different.) For me, the Dead combine a lot of different elements (guitar prowess, awesome lyrics, song structures, etc.) into a signature style and sound that no band has ever approached. That said, I still don't have room in my listening day for "Turn on Your Lovelight" (sorry, purists). 

Discovering the Dead at the time of their origin gives listeners of a particular generation an advantage that differs from later generations who discovered 1960s bands from reissues and Internet streaming. Boys and girls, it's just not the same. Early encounters with Live/Dead helped to solidify the growing suspicion that the world was indeed changing, not just musically but on so many other cultural levels. I was fortunate not to get swept up in the unhealthy and dangerous distractions of the late 1960s. I reasoned correctly that it was safer to listen at home than tripping acid at live shows. 

Complete and partial Dead shows always circulated on cassette tapes among dedicated "dead heads." In the mid-1990s I rediscovered the band through CD reissues: the abbreviated From-the-Vault series, Dick's Picks, Road Trips, and Dave's Picks. As a result, I now have recordings of 160 performances, including studio albums and dozens of live recordings. (I may be overcompensating for never having seen the band live.) These are limited edition sets that I subscribe to each year out of habit. I spend most of my time listening to jazz, but it's good to have the Dead on hand for moments when nothing else will do. 

Grateful Dead fans are classifiable for the period of the band's history that they dig the most. I am definitely a 1975-1978 fan, which is not to say that I don't like the earlier or later periods. I like them all, but 75-78 was their best period, IMHO. To complete the self-classification, my favorite song is "Eyes of the World," which first appeared on Wake of the Flood (1973). 

Steve:

I had mixed feelings about the Grateful Dead for much of my adult life, even after I had become a die-hard Phish fan in the 1990s. Fans always swore by their live performances, but most of them sounded so formless to me that I had nothing to grab onto. If a particular improvisation is a diversion away from Song A, then if I'm not familiar with Song A, it's hard for me to gauge its quality and understand its function with respect to the song. I finally "got" the Dead only after I committed to listen to their studio albums in their entirety, thus increasing my familiarity with the basic forms of the various songs that show up in their set lists. Advice to budding Deadheads -- learn the songs before you dive into the 20-minute jams. [Dan comment: For the most part I worked back to the studio albums after repeated hearings of the songs played live. I show no ill effects of this reversal of Steve's advice, but I'm not a real musician like he is.]

Even in this Dead-skeptic stage of my life, however, I always understood and enjoyed Live/Dead. It captures the early Grateful Dead fully in their element, and I agree with Dan that the "Dark Star > Saint Stephen > The Eleven" sequence is a highlight of the Dead's recorded catalog. I also agree that "Lovelight" is a bit of a chore to listen to, though I'm sure it was fun to dance to if you were there. So, that's sides 1-3; side 4 gets pretty creepy, much to my delight: "Death Don't Have No Mercy", a slow blues, has a suitably doomy and quiet atmosphere, and it segues into a lengthy "Feedback" section that further darkens the mood, until the a cappella "And We Bid You Goodnight" conclusion serves a dual role as End of Concert/End of Time. Pretty neat.

Jefferson Airplane - Volunteers (1969)

Dan: 

Volunteers was the last Jefferson Airplane album put out by RCA and it received a lavish treatment complete with gatefold cover, inner sleeve artwork, and astonishing sonics. Discogs lists a whopping 123 different releases worldwide, including a quadraphonic version on both vinyl and reel-to-reel tape in 1973. I bought the Mobile Fidelity CD in the early 90s and also owned a later pressing of the LP. One might conclude that that this was the band's best seller, but it wasn't. Surrealistic Pillow holds that honor with over a million copies sold. 

It's my favorite Airplane album. Songwriting is distributed across the band members, although Marty Balin's sole contribution is the 2-minute closing title song. Volunteers also was Balin's last album as a member of Jefferson Airplane. By this time, it was easy to guess who wrote which song. I am especially captivated by Grace Slick's songwriting. On Volunteers she contributes "Eskimo Blue Day" and "Hey Frederick," two of the darkest songs on the album. "Eskimo" is a lengthy exercise in free association over a somber instrumental backing. It's about the natural world (eels, trees, snow, sulfur springs, the sun and the sea) and human names, crowds and dreams - all of which "don't mean shit to a tree." "Frederick" is about machines but's not easy to decipher. Again, the music establishes the mood as well as the lyrics. Songs like this can be disturbing, but they're honest expressions of despair in a modern world where nature is threatened by human progress. 

"Wooden Ships" also makes its debut on Volunteers. Paul Kantner and Stephen Stills wrote most of the lyrics to accompany David Crosby's music. Kantner even named a future band after the song, and of course it was a major hit for Crosby, Stills & Nash. It's a beautiful anti-war song in which survivors from opposite camps meet and set off together wondering who might have won the war. In contrast to Slick's angry vitriol, "Wooden Ships" responds to the horrors of the world with idyllic serenity. It's remarkable that her songs cohere along with lighter material on the same album.

Steve:

Jefferson Airplane's prior album, Crown of Creation, had been their bleakest album yet, concluding with nothing less than the end of the world itself ("The House at Pooneil Corners"), so Volunteers seems more optimistic in comparison, but only slightly. Their anger has been channeled away from impotent rage and into positive action - even if such action involves forcing the bad guys "up against the wall, mother f**ker!" ("We Can Be Together", which opens the album on an anthemic note). Only Grace's tunes retain the dark pessimism of before, as Dan points out above. Elsewhere, the band seems to find solutions in returning to the Earth ("The Farm", "A Song for All Seasons") and finding strength in a higher power ("Good Shepherd"). Volunteers is a return to simplicity that capitalizes on the band's individual and collective creative strengths.

I'll add words of praise for "Wooden Ships". This version of the song puts me in a dreamlike state, though it was never clear to me what it was about. I imagine a post-apocalyptic world in which a few survivors remain, and they roam the wasteland wondering about the future of themselves and the world. Kind of like the plot of The Last of Us on HBO, which I've been watching lately, come to think of it. No wonder I like that show. 

The Beatles - Abbey Road (1969)

Steve:

As arguably the finest album by arguably the world's finest rock band, Abbey Road should be familiar to at least a few readers out there. I discovered it in my elementary school years, and my initial impressions were: a) there are a lot of songs here, b) and one of them is hidden at the end!, c) the "Bang Bang Maxwell's Silver Hammer" song is funny!, and d) the song at the end of side 1 is long and kind of scary. Beyond those surface impressions, this album rewards repeated listens, decades later.

Along with the Moody Blues, the Beatles shaped how I consumed music from a very early age. In retrospect, I strongly believe that my early immersion into the Beatles was a key factor in how seriously and thoroughly I embraced music as my primary interest for the rest of my life. After my daughter was born, my wife and I played the Beatles in the car and in the house often, and within several years she was able to identify every song by name and could sing along much of the time. I'm sure later on when she's a middle-aged person like me, even if she's not a music fanatic, she'll still have the Beatles catalog in her muscle memory, ready for instant recall. That's how powerful this band is.

So, bringing my impressions of Abbey Road up to date: a) I've visited that crosswalk on the album cover, and it's a busy intersection! It was hard to find an opening to walk across it, much less get a good souvenir photo; b) "I Want You (She So Heavy)" is still one of my favorite songs to play loud, and a song I would like to play live myself someday - I got a looper guitar pedal partly so I could loop the arpeggios in the closing section while going nuts on amplifier feedback; c) George Harrison might win the prize for best songwriter on this album.  "Something" and "Here Comes the Sun" are rightfully two of the most beloved Beatles songs of all time, and I'm not sure he's ever topped them; and d) kudos to George also for helping Ringo bring "Octopus' Garden" to life. Engineer Geoff Emerick's book Here, There and Everywhere makes it clear that George was very much a guiding light for that song. 

Dan:

Having experienced the first wave of Beatlemania in 1963-64, it was almost impossible not to love the group and their music. So many quality singles in such a short time! Most of the early albums were compilations of singles, and I had a small collection of them. When they released Rubber Soul (1965) and Revolver (1966) as full albums, I didn't fully absorb them perhaps due to my snobbishness as a jazz fan as well as my maturation into adulthood. (Too bad for me because these were also great albums that I later added to my collection). The Beatles were relentless and succeeded in bringing out two great albums in 1967 (Sgt. Pepper) and 1968 (The White Album). I did make a point of owning these as well as Abbey Road from 1969, which I view as the cream of the crop of their entire output. 

When he was two years old, Steve heard my records many times in our small apartment. No wonder he likes the Moody Blues and Abbey Road. I never imagined the profound effects those early experiences might have. Abbey Road is the prime example of our Father-to-Son-and-Back-Around blog theme. He knew this album before he could speak. Four years ago he offered me his remastered 50th anniversary edition of the album to rip into my digital music collection. 

John Mayall - The Turning Point (1969)

Steve:

While in my teens, I fell under the spell of Cream. They quickly took their place among my elite late 60s British bands along with the Beatles, The Who, The Kinks, and Led Zeppelin. As I read about all these bands, the name John Mayall kept popping up, like he was some sort of godfather to this scene. Before hearing his music, my impression was that his bands were mainly a "school of blues" from which major talents would graduate and go on to blow peoples' minds with their own post-blues achievements. Eric Clapton, Peter Green, Mick Taylor, and other individuals all earned their wings in Mayall's group, and all became more famous than their former boss. I wondered what Mayall himself ever did to further the progress of blues rock music.

For many, the answer lies in The Turning Point. The title itself indicates that Mayall himself understood that he meant this album to be an inflection point, an event wherein the history of the Blues would thereafter be cleaved into the Then and the Now, with this album at the center. I'm being a bit facetious, as Mayall himself was never prone to pretense or self-importance - he just lived for the music and let it guide him. By this time, Cream's grand experiment had already run its course, and Mayall was astute enough to reason that if Cream and Hendrix had already taken the blues to its super-amplified heights, then the next radical course of action would have to be in the opposite direction - apply the same cathartic energy of the blues to the acoustic mode.  

Unlike many of the albums reviewed on this blog thus far, I did not know of this album until my early twenties (the early 1990s), in the CD age. The timing was good, however, as I had a bit more of a taste for mellow groovin' jam band music at the time, compared to my louder-is-better teenage years. I recall that I put "The Laws Must Change" on a mix tape I called "Revolution!" filled with fist pumping 60s "stick it to the man" anthems, which I found very pleasant to jog to. Its chugging acoustic drive provided a nice respite after the blowout "The Time Has Come Today".  

So this is a pretty chill album, but one that has a quiet intensity bubbling throughout, whether the songs are fast ("Laws", "Room to Move") or slow ("California", "Saw Mill Gulch Road"). The album was wisely released as a live performance (from the Fillmore East), fully capturing the interplay between Mayall (acoustic guitar, vocals), Jon Mark (acoustic guitar), Johnny Almond (sax, flute), and Steve Thompson (bass), with the ambience of the performance space very noticeable. The songs are all blues based, but the band interplay and oft-elongated songs approach the improvisational fire of jazz. Mayall sings and directs the band with quiet authority, delivering his emotional lyrics for maximum impact.

Dan:

I was surprised to find this album in Steve's collection recently. I probably bought the LP in 1970 or 1971, based on another Down Beat review. The jazz magazine was intrigued by the instrumentation: acoustic "fingerstyle" guitar (as Mayall names it while introducing the band), saxophone and flute, acoustic bass, and Mayall's harmonica. After decades of not hearing it, it was like finding an old friend. (I have no idea where the LP went, although I do cull my collection occasionally). Of course, I recognized all the tunes and even all of the notes and lyrics. The CD has three bonus tracks at the end from the same performance. I only wish the whole gig was presented in the order of performance. 

Regarding the emotional lyrics that Steve mentions, hearing "The Laws Must Change" in 2023 renews the relevance of its message. Mayall voices a need for respect of law enforcement and urges patience among people who seem bent on violent revolution. Sound familiar? Mayall tells us (then and now) that we should listen to each other instead of simply saying we are right and they are wrong. 

"The laws must change one day, but it's goin' to take some time."

Pink Floyd - Ummagumma (1969)

Steve:

I have gone on record before claiming that Pink Floyd could do no wrong. I've since clarified that statement to mean "Pink Floyd with Roger Waters....", but that may still leave some readers gaping at me in disbelief. Pink Floyd, especially during the years 1968-1972, were experimenting so boldly (some would say recklessly) that there were bound to be failures among the triumphs. Ummagumma, more than any other Pink Floyd album, puts my claim to the test.

Ummagumma was the first pre-Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd album I ever heard. Dan had a copy on his shelf, and my natural curiosity was drawn to it immediately, from the striking cover art to the very structure of the album (a live album and a studio album, with the studio album split into four segments to showcase solo projects) to the mere presence of a song whose title is so long and ridiculous it can't help but garner attention. For the live portion, this album cover was the first place I ever saw the name Syd Barrett and heard a song of his ("Astronomy Domine"), and the remaining three live tracks were my first impressions as to what Pink Floyd sounded like live. Strange stuff, and a bit alarming if you're not prepared. I found this out years later when my college roommate and I had some guests spending the night, and I put on music to go to sleep to, as I often did, and Ummagumma was my selection. Imagine the horror my guests felt when the scream in "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" came on. They still mention it to this day. Oof. My bad.

The studio record is mostly brilliant, as long as the critic's term "self-indulgent" is not an immediate turnoff for you. Richard Wright wins 1st prize with his 4-part "Sysyphus", a keyboard-based composition that sounds like one of Keith Emerson's fever dreams. Roger Waters contributes the ridiculous long-titled track (fun if perplexing) and a great acoustic ballad. David Gilmour turns three separate ideas into a questionable "suite" called "The Narrow Way", but all three parts are solid if incompatible. Nick Mason's composition closes it out with an eye-opening tour-de-force totally redefining percussion's role in rock music. "The Grand Vizier's Garden Party" keeps me on the edge of my seat, improbably building its dramatic heft with every new wave of sound.

Actually, "The Grand Vizier's Garden Party" is a snoozy drum solo with electronic effects, and it's a bit of a drag. But let's pretend it's awesome so I can rescue the integrity of my "Pink Floyd can do no wrong" statement. 

Dan:

Ummagumma is an album that could only have been made in the late 1960s. It's experimental, self-indulgent, and spotty. Albums later became much more disciplined, if only for commercial reasons. I'm glad that the reins were loosened for the important prog bands of the time, especially Pink Floyd.

I bought the album after viewing a film that included at least two of the cuts off of the live record: "Careful with That Axe Eugene," and "Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun." The film I saw was probably studio material that was added to the film Pink Floyd at Pompeii, shot in 1971. It was partly scenes from the studio and partly dreamy scenes such as aerial shots over what looked like mangrove swamps. Those memories are definitely faded since I probably saw the film in 1972. Regardless, it made a big impression on me. The scream on "Axe" was amazing to see performed live, but the quiet "Set the Controls" was equally profound. Those long-haired young men in the film were probably the coolest hippies I ever saw. 

On the studio LP I like "Grantchester Meadows," "Sysyphus," and "The Narrow Way." I don't challenge Steve's assessment of "The Grand Vizier's Garden Party." I would always trust his opinions on all things prog. 

The Moody Blues - To Our Children's Children's Children (1969)

Steve:

For this album, the Moody Blues' musical arranging ambitions had reached such a high point that they consciously dialed it down for their next album (the more straightforward rock of A Question of Balance, 1970). The band's sound on this and the previous record (On the Threshold of a Dream) featured so many sounds alien to standard rock language that the band found it increasingly difficult to reproduce it on stage. The belated release of Caught Live +5 documents live material from around this time, and as a sympathetic fan who loves the band dearly, I have to be honest and say it's a pretty weak document. But in the studio, this stuff was magic, and To Our Children's Children's Children is arguably their most fully realized effort.

My own history with this album goes back as far as I can remember. Some of my earliest memories involve listening to this album on that clunky old stereo console Dan had in the early 1970s (see his "Father's Story" post). It still amazes me that as a toddler, I was choosing to spend a good chunk of my days fussing over records like this one. I did have a friend next door, Edward, but one of my few surviving memories of him involves his sister chasing me out of their yard with a broom. Being upset and feeling wronged, I called the police on her.  Thankfully the police never came because my mom caught me on the phone with the police and hung up the phone. Bear in mind I was 5 years old and didn't know what I was doing. I'm sure Vicky meant no harm. 

Harm or no, I derived great strength from the opening explosive tempest of "Higher and Higher", a track that still sounds like a raging inferno today. Its extreme speed and volume, coupled with its big-bang lyrical imagery ("Blasting, billowing, bursting forth with the power of ten billion butterfly sneezes"), provides one heck of an opening number. The remainder of side 1 continues to offer contrasts in speed and volume: slow quiet numbers ("Eyes of a Child", "I Never Thought I'd Live to be a Hundred") and loud fast numbers ("Eyes of a Child Part 2", "Beyond").  Side 2 focuses on more midtempo, complex numbers ("Eternity Road", "Candle of Life"), and the whole package feels very complete and well-rounded.

While I would never dare to choose a favorite among the Moodies' "Big Seven" albums released between 1967-1972, To Our Children's Children's Children has a density, complexity, and "bigness" that clearly makes it stand out in their discography. 

Dan:

For me, To Our Children's Children's Children is inspiring. I'm not a troubled soul but if I were, this album would provide great comfort. The key tracks that inform this assessment are 7-13, essentially the last song on side 1 and all of side 2. Track 7, "Out and In," is a call for self-understanding - the journey inward. It even contains a response to skeptics who might want to dismiss this calling as New Age piffle: "If you think it's a joke, that's all right do what you want to do. I've said my peace and I'll leave it all up to you." Note the spelling of peace instead of piece.

Side 2 opens with "Gypsy," a song that has received various interpretations, according to Internet chatters. Religious and astronomical interpretations aside, it's about anyone or anything that has left home to find a new place to be. Regardless of its meaning, "Gypsy" is a strong offering based solely on its musical merits. The last four songs form a kind of suite, all focused on themes of eternity, life, and hope. It's good fare that we had come to expect from The Moodies, but it's also free of experimental gimmicks. It feels like the band had arrived at their own self-understanding and crafted a near-perfect album using their collective strengths, including those of their producer, Tony Clarke. 

Led Zeppelin - Led Zeppelin (1969)

Steve: 

For people of my generation and slightly older, it was an established rite of passage to discover and obsess over Led Zeppelin in one's early teens. For me, it happened on a week-long trip in a van with a bunch of other kids. My best friend had invited me along on his church group's trip from Miami up through the southeast, finally landing at the World's Fair in Knoxville, Tennessee. The only three things I remember about the trip were: a) we were required to bring a Bible with us, even though we never used it; b) "Abracadabra", "Hold Me", and "Jack and Diane" played on the car radio constantly, and c) an older kid in the van introduced me to Led Zeppelin.  

He had his own cassette player, and this provided a little variety from the John Cougar/Steve Miller/Fleetwood Mac radio content all day long. The cassette he had was Led Zeppelin II, and at that point in my life I had not yet delved into hard and heavy rock. It was exciting and just a little dangerous sounding, and it got my teenage adrenalin level up in the same way hearing the Sex Pistols for the first time did a few years later.  

Returning home from the van trip, my immediate priority was to acquire all the Led Zeppelin I could, as quickly as possible. Soon I had Led Zeppelin (their debut album) in my possession, and I was especially excited about this because "Dazed and Confused" was possibly the coolest song I had heard in my life at that point (along with the weird theremin break in "Whole Lotta Love"). I still get excited when that song comes on. "Communication Breakdown" was also a favorite, and this was another sign that I was becoming increasingly susceptible to Killer Guitar Riffs. Vocal melodies, lyrics and superb musicianship - all those things were secondary to the Killer Guitar Riff. This aesthetic preference clouds my judgment to this day; I'm still a sucker for riffs.

In retrospect, Led Zeppelin remains Led Zeppelin's most exciting achievement. The band turned blues-based rock into a whole new ballgame in one broad stroke -- bands everywhere emulated the heaviness and volume of this album and eventually morphed it into what became known as Heavy Metal. But the enduring quality of this album lies not merely in its monolithic approach to rock, but in the subtle skill in which they deliver the goods. Guitarist Jimmy Page and bassist John Paul Jones were both versatile and experienced veterans of the recording studio, and drummer John Bonham's incredible power sometimes obscured the fact that the notes he played were always the right ones for the song and were delivered with a precision that grooved like crazy. Robert Plant, for his part, contributed some of his finest vocals ever -- the folk remake "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" is absolutely breathtaking in its hair-raising intensity.

Dan: 

Steve's description of the impact of Led Zeppelin's first album matches my own. In 1969, FM radio was the main source of hearing new music and I always remember the shock of hearing "Dazed and Confused" for the first time. The ominous descending chords of the introduction command immediate attention, and the long interlude in the middle seals the deal. It was unprecedented and warmly received into my modest LP collection of the day. 

It took more time to enjoy the whole album, mostly because "Dazed and Confused" established such a high standard of excellence. But in time I came to appreciate the artistry and importance of what they were doing. The sleeper track is "Black Mountain Side," a folksy acoustic number with tablas that lasts a mere 2:12 minutes. This song is covered by Steve Tibbetts on his Big Map Idea LP (ECM, 1988), probably the only Jimmy Page composition ever appearing on a jazz label See my review here: MORE FAVORITES: Reflections on Jazz in the 1980s: Search results for tibbetts (jazzinthe80s.blogspot.com). [Steve's comment: it has since been observed by some reviewers that "Black Mountain Side" was adapted from Bert Jansch's arrangement of a traditional folk tune called "Down by Blackwaterside" and probably should not have been credited to Page]. 

To add just a pinch of pseudo-cosmic detail, Led Zeppelin was released in 1969, the year Steve was born. Jimmy Page, the oldest member of Led Zeppelin, was born in in 1944, the same year as me. Here we are 54 years after the album's release writing about it together. woooooooooooooooooo

King Crimson - In the Court of the Crimson King: An Observation by King Crimson (1969)

Steve: 

A strong case could be made that In the Court of the Crimson King is the first progressive rock album. Rock music had been building towards it for the previous two years, but here it finally took on the recognizable characteristics we associate with prog today: extended tracks with multiple sections, symphonic arrangements, and complex melodies, harmonies, and rhythms. The album cover itself practically screamed at you to listen and take notice, and the album made a big splash in 1969.

In my case, it made a big splash sometime in the early 80s. I had heard of Robert Fripp via an album he recorded with Andy Summers, guitarist for The Police, my favorite band at the time. I remember record shopping with Dan at Yardbird Records in Miami, and he pulled out In the Court of the Crimson King, priced at $5. He recommended I buy it, "because you like Pink Floyd". I did, and the album immediately opened up new worlds of rock music to me.

"21st Century Schizoid Man" is almost an unfair way to open an album - it's a full-on percussive, abrasive assault on the senses, sounding like nothing that had come before. It can't help but make a strong impression, and the song looms large over the band's history, even if they never recorded anything quite like it again. Most of the remaining songs are dominated by reedman/keyboardist Ian McDonald, who is the primary songwriter on the album in addition to handling most of the Mellotron parts, and vocalist/bassist Greg Lake, whose made-for-prog singing gives the band's compositions the theatrical, cinematic weight they need. Can you imagine David Byrne singing "Epitaph"? No, you need a larger-than-life vocalist like Lake, hair blowing in the wind, crying to the heavens atop his metaphorical mountain. 

 

I must say a word in defense of the album's most controversial track, the song that even people who praise this album as an all-time classic often feel the need to apologize for. "Moonchild" is the longest track on the album at 12 minutes, and the last 10 minutes consist of, at first listen, near-silence with occasional randomly scattered quiet passages with no purpose. As if the band went out to the pub and a few mice decided to crawl over their still-plugged-in instruments. 

But listen to this track closely, close your eyes, and imagine you are in a dark forest at night. What the band is playing is a simulation of the natural ebb and flow of nature in an otherwise quiet setting. Not merely random noise, but a virtual conversation between several nocturnal critters. The song does interrupt the sonic majesty, coming in between the album's two grand epics ("Epitaph" and "The Court of the Crimson King"), but that's what progressive rock seemed to be about in its earliest days -- confounding expectations. They were rewriting the rules, so why not add a squirrels' conversation in the middle?

No progressive rock collection is complete without this, but you don't need me to tell you that.

Dan: 

I had forgotten my recommendation to Steve that he check this album out. Obviously, he's absorbed it completely. The 1969 version of King Crimson is the one I like the most. I love "The Court of The Crimson King" and "Epitaph." They both etch pictures in my head of magical places and people. 

I appreciate Steve's defense of "Moonchild," and the remedy to listen more carefully. Sadly, listening has become a lost art, but I would think that the fascination with ear buds and headphones might give wearers a chance to hear more nocturnal detail. "Moonchild" is not a piece that you can crank up in your car or listen to from another room. I hope our blog motivates readers to find 12 minutes for the close-up experience. Of course, doing so will also allow you to be bathed in the glories of the Fire Witch and dancing puppets on the following track.