I’m not inherently pre-disposed to dislike psychedelic music, nor folk music, but I am pre-disposed to intensely detest psychedelic folk musicians.
Rejecting society before it rejects them, so many were utterly self-indulgent, fatuous, drug-gobbling dreamers who talked in serious tones about the necessity of change as long as someone else is doing the changing and they were free to do whatever the fuck they wanted.
I’m reminded of Robert Christgau’s comment about Sting, which he also applied to Pete Townsend, and could equally be applied to so many hippies of this era: “We’re not just spirits in the material world – we’re also matter in the material world, which is why things get sticky.”
That said, music doesn’t necessarily have to ground itself in reality, and in fact, reality offers musicians an infinite variety of options to produce art. What’s winning about this record is that the (very possibly horrible) people that made it took advantage of their options, leveraged them, and made something the likes of which I’ve never heard.
In many respects, this is like looking at a beautiful flower, and then picking it, and then deconstructing it to see how its made in all its parts. Inside you find what makes it grow, the seeds for the future, strange shapes and ugliness and bits and pieces and utility, but also colo(u)r and beauty.
But that doesn’t mean I enjoyed this, because I decidedly did not. The opener is odd enough, but the minotaur thing is a show tune. I like exactly one-and-a-half show tunes: “Wait For It” from Hamilton, and the chorus part of “Into the Woods” (RIP Stephen Sondheim). It’s an appalling, cloying, irritating, annoying piece of wank and it damn near ruins the record. I HATED this song. I mean I DETESTED it.
And I am so freaking sick and tired of songs over ten minutes that when I saw how long “A Very Cellular Song” was, I almost gave up. But fortunately “Witches Hat” rebuilt a bit of credibility after the minotaur one, so I stuck around. And I’m glad I did. Yes, this is all dated and strange, but to a certain degree this is a triumph. The old religious standard is actually gorgeous, and the return to the unusual organ breaks and squeaking violin and jumping around vignette to vignette and the bit about amoebas – it’s all so weird and curious, I couldn’t help but derive some enjoyment out of the journey itself, which is maybe the point.
“Mercy I Cry City” is more straight-ahead folk competently performed and partially competently sung (maybe the best thing here), but “Waltz Of The New Moon” is awfully grating. Re: “The Water Song” -- I have no inherent issue with songs about water -- FFS, the most famous song on what was long the number one record on BlueHammer’s list in the other thread is all about water -- but this seemed a throwaway.
I note “Swift As The Wind” is a favo(u)rite of many here, though apparently it scared poor
@RobMCFC, but I didn’t find this any more intriguing or attractive aurally than anything else here. But there’s little sitar break right before the chorus of “Nightfall”, and the chorus itself, that nearly rise to the level of beauty. I think maybe this was the one song I wished was longer.
If I’m going to complain about singers like I have before -- whether Geddy Lee, John Wetton or Peter Gabriel -- I’m pretty much trapped into doing so here. The deliberately out-of-tune cacophony doesn’t add to the uniqueness, it detracts. And it’s a shame, because I think a talented vocalist could lift these songs up in a way that wouldn’t detract from their lilt and would add something.
Do I like it? On the whole, I do not. Should I like it? On the whole, I don’t believe I’m supposed to, nor do I believe the artists care. I think the operative question is a meta one -- CAN I like it? In that regard, I very much can. I can because the reach exceeds the grasp. I can because the ideas are interesting despite the execution. I can because the stylistic movement song to song is varied, and the underpinnings are grounded in what the artists know – Scottish folk -- and what they found lying around the house as remnants of their travels -- meaning sitars, finger-cymbals, flutes and their girlfriends.
It's really hard to know how to attach a number value here. There’s a disconnect between the result and the goal, I think. “A curate’s egg” was a wonderful description. I think I will go with 4/10 – there’s not a lot of visceral enjoyment, but there ARE bits, and it is a unique accomplishment, and that should matter.
