Few expected it when in 1991, one of rock’s most legendary and influential bands suddenly (and briefly) reappeared on the scene. Television had released two landmark albums in the 1970s, both revolutionary in bridging the chasm between 70s guitar-god rock and the minimalist aesthetic of punk/new wave. With a style best described as the audio equivalent of film noir, Television stood rock convention on its head, melding an angular, bracing method that appealed to the hipsters, while forging a twin-guitar attack that warmed the hearts of fist-pumping rockers everywhere.

It’s a familiar story: Television’s influence far outstripped the group’s commercial impact. Like so many other groups of that era (New York Dolls, Rocket From the Tombs) their genius was recognized — and even then only belatedly — primarily by the cognoscenti.

So it was a surprise when the classic lineup quartet (ace guitarists Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd plus Fred Smith and Billy Ficca) reformed. Their eponymous 1992 release picked right up where Adventure had left off some fourteen years earlier. Yet Television sounds today even less dated than the earlier efforts.

The reformed group played dates in the USA and England; several shows were captured by audience tapers. A two-disc recording from the Town & Country Club in London finds Television doing precisely what one might expect. Never ones to look backward, they played the new songs while expanding arrangements in a considered, logical way without ever descending into noodlesome jamwankery.

This set presents most of the ‘92 album, but the group inexplicably passed over one of the most accessible tracks, “Shane, She Wrote This.” The sole nod to the past is the encore, “Little Johnny Jewel.” This set is a must for aficionados of ‘77 punk and, for that matter, damn near everything that came in its wake.

Difficulty to Locate: 8 out of 10
General Listenability: 9 out of 10

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Disclosure of Material Connection:

In October 1969 — two and a half months after Woodstock — the rock festival was at its peak. Eclectic festivals were the norm. So it was then that the French indie/jazz music mag Actuel planned to sponsor a five-day show in Paris. Oddly, they chose Frank Zappa to serve as emcee. Speaking no French, Zappa chose to communicate through music, and jammed onstage with a few of the groups. Last-minute permit difficulties forced the relocation of the festival to Mont de l’Enclus in Amougies Belgium. A film was made of concert highlights, but owing to performance-rights issues, the film, Music Power, was never released.

So ended the story…almost. In 2005 a figure known only as “JJB” released his audience tapes of the show to interested parties at no charge. While the tapes are not release quality — distortion and tape speed problems are evident, and the taper simply switched off his recorder mid-song if he didn’t care for an act — the music serves as an important historical document.

The tapes include complete sets by several major acts. Ten Years After built upon their newfound fame. The original Yes lineup played a rousing set of mostly covers. The Nice (featuring Keith Emerson) did a set, one of their last before folding. Canterbury favorites Caravan played a full set, as did Captain Beefheart. Pink Floyd jammed with Zappa, as did overlooked psychedelic group Blossom Toes. (Happy 64th birthday today to Blossom Toes’ Jim Cregan.) In most cases, Zappa would just surprise the musicians mid-set and walk on. Interviewed in March 2006, Blossom Toes guitarist Brian Godding told me, “Frank [came] on, tuned up and [tried] to teach us one of his tunes…in front of the crowd!”

Ten discs in all, the Festival Actuel set provides a time-capsule alternative to Woodstock. Highly recommended to anyone interested in the progressive end of late 60s rock.

Difficulty to Locate: 9 out of 10
General Listenability: 7 out of 10

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Disclosure of Material Connection:

When a writer’s work gains a certain degree of visibility, an interesting thing sometimes happens. The artists getting reviewed and/or profiled often contact the writer to give feedback. This happens more often than you might expect. Owing to the ease of communication afforded by the intertubes, it’s easy for an artist to find out when s/he has been mentioned online. Google Alerts exists just to aid such a purpose.

It’s gratifying to hear from an artist, especially when they say things along the lines of “you really understand where I was going with that” or similar sentiments. In my own experience, several recording artists have contacted me (privately, not for publication) to admit that I was on the mark in some criticism I might have proffered. That’s very helpful feedback for me, and demonstrates a healthy ability on their part to accept criticism.

Occasionally, however, an artist is displeased with something I’ve written. Now, usually when this happens, if they comment at all, it’s generally not to me, but more often via their Twitter account, personal online diary or other similar venue. In most cases, well, there’s nothing I can do about that. I have savaged a number of works over the years, and I meant it. If I wrote it, I meant it, and I’ll stand by it.

Well, almost always. Recently – as part of a lengthy and largely positive review – I applied a couple of gratuitous adjectives to my description of a very well-known recording artist. I’m not going to say whom; that’s not the point. Said artist took offense and blogged about it.

Not to get too “inside baseball” about it, but like many bloggers, I am keenly interested in tracking how readers find my blog. As such my curiosity was piqued when I learned that several visitors in the last few days found my blog by searching Google using a text-string made up of a full sentence from the aforementioned review. So I Googled the same phrase, and – in addition to my own blog – found the artist’s rejoinder (including the offending excerpt from my review) .

My words were hurtful. Yes, I was making a point, and no, I don’t believe that my point was completely without merit. But the thing is, said point had little to do with the larger points I was trying to make in the review. In other words, they were gratuitous. I was thoughtlessly throwing in an opinion of mine because I could, not because it furthered discussion of the relative merits of the album under consideration.

I’ve since appended an apology to the tail-end of that review. Words have consequences, after all. If I wished to write an essay dedicated to exploring the assertions I threw into that review, I could do so legitimately (though doing so would appear mean-spirited at best, and I am not such a person). But those assertions didn’t add to the reader’s understanding of the album, so they didn’t need to be included.

An apology was not requested. One is freely and humbly offered nonetheless.

Gentle, pastoral guitar picking starts off the epic-length “Daydreamers’ Nightmare” on Beyond Reality, the latest from Dutch progressive outfit Mangrove. An airy synth line doubles the melodic phrase, and then — as prog is wont to do — the rest of the band thunders in, and a soaring electric guitar lead is laid atop the entire thing. Slow chord progressions with plenty of air in them are the order of the day. Three minutes in, the virtual stage goes dark except for a lone electric piano and vocal. Theatrical in its presentation — and highly melodic in its delivery — “Daydreamers’ Nightmare” unfolds slowly, making deft and effective use of those oft-abused progressive rock trademarks (fast/slow, loud/quiet, hard/soft, complicated/simple).

Though possessed of a feel that will be familiar to followers of the genre, the song isn’t overly reminiscent of any particular act. And that’s all to the good. Rather than serving as a showcase for one particular virtuoso, Beyond Reality is a well-balanced album that provides plenty of vocals and lyrics, while still delivering the requisite instrumental spotlights. No player overshadows another; the songs are often built around keyboard parts, but tasty guitar solos abound. Some seven-plus minutes in, “Daydreamers’ Nightmare” really breaks out into epic fashion, and here the band does sonically evoke some of the past greats. The thunderous rhythm section recalls some of the best work of Rush (minus the Donald Duck vocals, of course) and the choir Mellotron calls to mind A Trick of the Tail-era Genesis.

The signature synth line on “Time Will Tell” has a texture highly reminiscent of Genesis’ “Follow You Follow Me,” but the song’s overall structure is more ambitious than that 1978 pop hit. The song’s midsection segues into an almost funk-jazz vibe, but that’s quickly supplanted by an aural windstorm that leads into a pastiche of Pink Floyd’s mighty “Echoes.” Reverbed piano, glacial tempo, hypnotic bass, and buttery slide guitar all add up to the most obvious, unashamed cop of “Echoes” ever to be recorded. Even the signature Nick Mason drum fill (you know the one: dumdum-dum-tadum) makes a subtle appearance. After a few minutes of that, Mangrove updates things a bit by referencing some chord changes from Dark Side of the Moon. Little of Beyond Reality is pastiche (or ripoff, if you’re feeling unkind), but whole sections of “Time Will Tell” are undeniably Floydian.

The ballad “Love and Beyond” is built around more traditional instrumentation including acoustic guitar and piano. The members of Mangrove are clearly not technocrats; a song like this needs little filigree, and the arrangement is note-perfect. A brief and lovely guitar solo from Roland van der Horst leads into a verse with organ underpinning, and then the arrangement drops back to the spare guitar-piano-vocal approach. Vaguely reminiscent of the best work from (early) Styx, “Love and Beyond” would be a prime candidate for an AOR radio ballad, if such a thing still existed.

Church bells and spooky strings set the scene for “Reality Fades,” an instrumental track with a sweeping, cinematic arrangement. But soon enough, the band explodes into a bombastic, fast-paced aesthetic, and the song quickly progresses through a series of movements. The track is essentially a series of (mercifully brief) solo pieces, and is likely a highlight of Mangrove’s live show (they premiered Beyond Reality as an onstage set piece in June 2009).

The title track is another song-based production. Despite the use of a few less-than-standard chord changes, “Beyond Reality” is a rock-ballad number. Plenty of shade and light keeps the song interesting, and though the track employs verse-chorus structure, it’s still clearly progressive. The guitar solo is a highlight; if van der Horst harbors any tendency to overplay, he keeps it well in check, leaving ‘em wanting more. The rousing end section of the song is evocative of the closing of Grobschnitt’s “Rockpommel’s Land.”

The band fires on all cylinders on the album closer “Voyager.” The song features a piano part that is oddly but inescapably redolent of Foreigner’s “Cold As Ice.” Roland van den Horst shows off his ability to shriek (in tune) when called upon to do so. Chris Jonker’s fleet keyboards — here, mostly organ — head for Uriah Heep territory. The rhythm section of Peter Drost (bass) and Joost Hagermeijer (drums) holds things together with extreme force. The melodramatic chord shifts and tempo changes suit an album-closer remarkably well. An atmospheric organ-guitar interlude is good enough to stand on its own. Parts of the song even sound a bit like Klaatu, circa Hope.

Jonker uses a plethora of keyboards on the album. Almost all are possessed of a seventies aura: Rhodes, Wurlitzer, Mellotron, analog synths. Their use gives the album a firm grounding in the proud tradition of progressive rock. But rather than aim for flash or speed, Jonker’s keyboard parts establish melodic lines. The band’s song structures are pop-based, though, and in fact if one can imagine a cross between a classicist prog band of the early 70s and more song-based mainstream rock, that’s a good approximation of the Mangrove sound.

The liner notes’ gimmick of reproducing all of the lyrics in mirror-image is a goofy one, but rather than coming off as pretentious, it seems instead rather to be a piss-take on prog rock’s generally self-important attitude. The band photos suggest they had a good time at the photo session, coming off like nothing so much as a 21st prog version of the Monkees.

Mangrove is yet another of a growing crop of melodic prog rock groups based in Europe, a movement more interested in serving up songs than preening musically. Like the better among their peers, in fact Mangrove has it both ways — fiery playing welded to solid songcraft — on Beyond Reality.

Johny Lydon (née Rotten) used to end Sex Pistols concerts by sneering this question to the crowd: “Ever feel like you’ve been cheated?”

You might, if you spend eighty minutes watching the 1980 film Blank Generation, starring Richard Hell. One individual who’s in a position to have authority on the subject calls Blank Generation a “misbegotten” enterprise, and describes director Uli Lommel as an opportunistic, talentless hack of the lowest order.

The film starts future French superstar Carole Bouquet; she’s quite stunningly beautiful (and the film is beautifully shot) but she’s as wooden as a cigar store Indian. There’s virtually no chemistry between her and any of the film’s other actors. In fact, only two onscreen actors come off well in the film. Andy Warhol — who’s billed prominently in the feature despite being onscreen for a mere three-minute scene — “comports himself well” in the words of that aforementioned authority. Punk musician (and non-actor) Richard Hell, as the star of the film, actually exudes more realism, more authenticity, than all of the other players combined.

What’s amusing is that the authority to whom I’ve referred is none other than Hell himself. The DVD release of this pretentious claptrap of a film includes as its bonus material an up-close conversation with Hell, in which he relates his horrible experience of being associated with this monstrosity of a motion picture.

But wait! His disarming and candid demeanor is quite entertaining to behold as he mercilessly deconstructs the film, picking apart scenes as “stupid” and pointing out (correctly) that the film is completely disjointed, artificial, and full of scenes that represent little more than ideas (as opposed to fully-thought out story lines). More than once he marvels at a clip from the film, commenting, “What the f**k was that?”

One central scene in the film revolves around Hell’s character Billy riding in his car with Bouquet’s Nada (heavy-handed symbolism in the naming, much?) toward the beach. They argue whether or not to go, and ultimately don’t decide. In the commentary Hell observes that this lack of being able to decide whether to go to the beach, well, that’s how Lommel tells us viewers that Billy and Nada are “blank.” What is meant to be heavy and revelatory is instead silly and laughable.

The thing is, because Hell is discussing this particular film, viewers must see the movie to follow and fully appreciate what he’s talking about. “Part of my shame is that my name is among the screenwriters,” Hell admits wryly in the 2009 interview. So while the Hell interview is well worth seeing, the price of admission is: watching the damn film first.

All that said, Blank Generation is not without its redeeming features (but it is, in Hell’s words, “irredeemable” overall). As he points out, it’s well shot (but badly edited). It does present some real shots of 1978 NYC (though they’re couched in ludicrous dialogue and action). And the film does capture Hell onstage at CBGBs with his band the Voidoids (featuring ace guitarist Robert Quine, drummer Marc Bell [later known as Marky Ramone] and guitarist Ivan Julian). Though even that is botched by the director: the song “Blank Generation” is heard in its entirety more than four times.

See the film so you can appreciate Hell’s interview. Truly, that interview is reason enough to buy this DVD.

It would be too easy to dismiss The Apples in Stereo simply as sonic tricksters, as, fun trick noisemakers, so to speak. Or to peg them as retro-revivalists. But that would sell them short. On Travellers in Space and Time the group certainly trades in pop confections, but they’re delivered with heart and muscle. And, with a wink. The backing vocals on “Dream About the Future” are creamy, vocoder-y goodness a la Electric Light Orchestra. But all of the seeming gimmicks are in service of the songs. Though they purvey a vibe that often approaches early 70s AM pop (think: the Archies), the Apples in Stereo are as likely to evoke thoughts of artists as diverse as Sweet, Vince Guaraldi, 10cc and Mountain. No, really.

Few other groups could put forth the early-disco aesthetic of “Hey Elevator” and make it appeal to rock fans. Impossibly catchy hooks abound throughout the sixteen tracks. The dual guitar solo on “Hey Elevator” manages to conjure images of Thin Lizzy and kazoos at the same time.

Even a gimmicky vocoder-only track like the brief “Strange Solar System” works in this context. Imagine an ultra-poppy take on Todd Rundgren’s “Born to Synthesize.” The aptly-named “Dance Floor” will have even the most dance-phobic listener bobbing. Robert Schneider’s slightly twee vocals might be off-putting to listeners weaned on David Lee Roth and those Metallica guys, but then said listeners might have wandered into this review by mistake.

The analog synth riff that stakes out “C.P.U.” is horribly and intentionally out of tune, recreating the notoriously unreliable oscillators built into 80s era Moog synthesizers. (Trust me: I had one.) If the Human League had a punk attitude akin to, say, the Music Machine, this is what they would have sounded like. “No One in the World” is built on a Something/Anything era styled piano riff, but with a pie-eyed happy vibe more akin to the Captain and Tennille.

“Dignified Dignitary” is a musical citation of The Move’s (rather than ELO’s) “Do Ya?” and features cowbell right off a Grand Funk LP. But the chirpy backing vocals and watery synthesizer solo keep the song from heading into heavy-rock territory; the song’s attitude is closer to Material Issue.

The swirling pop of “No Vacation” features a bed of what sounds like cellos with a propulsive bass line. Heavily chorused guitars, electric harpsichord triplets and a melodic piano solo all come together to make the song another in a long line of pop winners.

“Told You Once” is ABBA-meets-Mott the Hoople. This reviewer is running out of words to get across the point that the music on Travellers in Space and Time is infectious, bubbly, and just plain fun. “It’s All Right” heads for a 15 Big Ones aesthetic and makes it work.

“Next Year at About the Same Time” rocks harder, sort of across between the Moody Blues and the Raspberries. Here the precious vocal delivery is dialed back. “Floating in Space” presents a minimalist take on the sort of sounds one would usually expect from the Flaming Lips. “Nobody But You” throws Los Bravos‘ “Black is Black,” ELO’s “Showdown” and Motown disco into a blender. The result sounds like a forgotten hit from 1977.

A Wurlitzer electric piano holds “Wings Away” together. The melody has that the-end-of-the-album-is nearly-upon-us feel. Vocoders, Mellotrons and other vintage keyboards abound. The album ends with “Time Pilot,” featuring a found-sound recording. That’s fitting, as the use of spoken recordings from odd sources bookends the album. One of the speakers predicts that “you will use this record often,” and he’s probably right.

Overall, the songs on Travellers in Space and Time present a skewed and original take on 70s pop. On one hand, it’s not too difficult to imagine this band appearing as guests on Sonny and Cher or one of the 70s era variety shows. But if one scratches the musical surface, it’s clear that The Apples in Stereo are far too weirdly wonderful and unique for that sort of mainstream acceptance.

On the back-cover liner notes of the 1967 album The Spirit of ‘67 by Paul Revere and the Raiders, publicist and bon vivant Derek Taylor wrote these prophetic words: “They are very good. And they are also very successful. Which is not always the same thing.”

Knowingly or not Taylor (former press agent for no less than the Beatles) was putting forth an argument that wouldn’t really to begin taking hold until decades later. The Raiders were very, very good. But their high visibility — five days a week from June 1965 until March ‘67 on Where the Action Is!, then as hosts of the weekly Happening ‘68 and the daily It’s Happening — was a double-edged sword.

True, the fact that the group appeared on TV in their pseudo-revolutionary garb, smiling and cutting up (before the Monkees, mind you) did help bring their music to a wider audience than would have otherwise caught on, but that visual image would ultimately work against them as the sixties progressed. Listeners wanted more “serious” music, and though Paul Revere and the Raiders could (and very, very often did) deliver, somehow the group has never gotten its critical due.

Paul Revere and the Raiders were a hard-working, show-stopping touring band. While they recorded songs from outside composers (usual suspects of high quality such as Boyce-Hart etc.) they also wrote the lion’s share of their best songs themselves. In fact those songs — many credited to the team of Mark Lindsay (vocals, sax) and Terry Melcher (production) — rank among the best rock music of the sixties, period.

I could go on. And in fact, I will. But not today. I’ve had the pleasure of speaking at length with Mark Lindsay, as well as with Phil “Fang” Volk (bassist during the group’s ‘65-’67 apex), group manager/historian Roger Hart and others. All of this will culminate in a feature, coming soon.

Meanwhile, there’s the music. Collectors’ Choice Music has released a 3cd set called The Complete Columbia Singles. This 66-track set (mostly in monaural, a la the original 45rpm discs) includes every a- and b-side waxed by the group during their time on Columbia (1963-1975; the nine or so pre-Columbia sides are not included). Taken strictly as music, this set is of extremely high quality; it will make the listener nostalgic for the era even if he or she didn’t experience it the first time ’round.

From the early cuts that showcased the group’s tough Pacific Northwest R&B sound (led by Revere’s boogie-woogie piano and Lindsay’s gritty saxophone) it’s clear that the Raiders were (among other qualities) excellent interpreters of the work of others. Like most groups of the day, the group’s b-sides found them reproducing their live performances on cuts like the instrumental standard “Night Train” and Richard Berry’s “Have Love Will Travel” (also recorded by the Raiders’ regional colleagues The Sonics). And while the question as to who recorded Berry’s “Louie, Louie” first — Paul Revere and the Raiders or the Kingsmen – may never be settled to everyone’s satisfaction, the Raiders’ stomping, honking version is here.

By 1965 Paul Revere and the Raiders had made the move to Los Angeles, and begun two fruitful associations: on TV with Dick Clark, and in the studio with Terry Melcher, then flying high on the strength of his production work for the Byrds. Thus began the hit singles (and hit albums) era for which the group is most remembered. Absent a singles compilation such as this new one, it’s easy to forget just how many hit singles (and damn good rocking ones at that) the group had during this era. Beginning in late 1965, the string began with the proto-punk “Steppin’ Out” and continued with “Just Like Me,” “Kicks,” “Hungry,” “The Great Airplane Strike,” “Good Thing,” “Ups and Downs,” “Him or Me — What’s It Gonna Be?,” “I Had a Dream,” “Peace of Mind,” “Too Much Talk,” “Don’t Take it So Hard,” “Cinderella Sunshine,” “Mr. Sun, Mr. Moon” and 1969’s return to form, “Let Me.” Wow, just…wow.

By the end of that stunning run in 1969, Melcher was gone, Lindsay had assumed virtual control of the group in the studio, and three members of the “classic era” lineup had left (Bassist Volk, drummer Mike “Smitty” Smith and guitarist Drake Levin formed the musically successful but commercially stillborn Brotherhood, but that too is a story for another day, as is the ultra-rare Stockhausen- and Cage-influenced album they and friends released as Friend Sound. Stay tuned.)

The b-sides of those early singles were often off-the-cuff instrumentals, and for good reason: the band wanted deejays to be clear on which was the “plug side.” Yet within these b-sides — some of which showed up on the long players, some not — listeners can find some interesting music. In fact, much of it is so good, listeners unfamiliar with which-was-the-hit will find their enjoyment doesn’t ebb and flow between the a- and b-sides. B-side highlights from that early era include disc one’s “B.F.D.R.F Blues” and the aforementioned “Have Love, Will Travel” as well as one of the rare examples of a composing credit by a Raider not named Lindsay or Revere, Phil “Fang” Volk’s excellent “In My Community.” That song — according to reliable sources — was briefly considered for a-side status.

And while Lindsay’s “Undecided Man,” the b-side of the smash “Good Thing” could be slagged as an “Eleanor Rigby” ripoff, use of that epithet would be a crime: the song features a strutting string section and a mannered (in a good way) vocal from Lindsay. It, too, is a very, very good thing.

Lesser-known but fascinating tracks on the second disc — covering 1967-69 — include the heavy rocker “Rain, Sleet, Snow” from the rare and oft-maligned A Christmas Present…and Past album. That track features a catchy fuzz guitar riff and treated vocals, and deserves to be revived every Holiday season along with the Kinks‘ “Father Christmas.”

Due to its comprehensive nature, the set isn’t all wonderful, and listeners are likely to spend less time spinning the third disc than the previous two. Yet the disc covering the latter part of 1969 through 1975 (the group actually recorded into the mid-seventies) contains a number of gems.

The surprise hit “Indian Reservation (The Lament of the Cherokee Reservation Indian)” is here, and — although the song (a) wasn’t originally intended as a Raiders cut at all, but rather a Mark Lindsay solo number, and (b) sounds not a bit like the band that recorded “Him or Me — What’s It Gonna Be” because it wasn’t — it’s still an enjoyable, essential cut. Forgotten gems on the disc include the band’s 1969 remake of their 1967 song “Gone Movin’ On,” the semi-hit “Just Seventeen” from the oft-overlooked Collage LP, “Country Wine” and the “Mississippi Queen” rewrite “Powder Blue Mercedes Queen.” Latter-day Raider Keith Allison took a larger hand in composing with the group, and the results — while (again) not sounding much like earlier group — are impressive and memorable.

It’s only near the very end of disc 3 that things take a turn toward the dreadful. The discofied “Love Music” (from 1973) did actually chart, so some people liked it, but it’s safe to assume those people weren’t fans of “Kicks” or “Hungry” (or “Louie, Louie,” for that matter). Late-late period singles didn’t even feature Mark Lindsay, who had finally left to pursue his solo career full time. “Your Love (Is the Only Love)” featured some other guy singing, some other guys writing, and could have been any group…except Paul Revere and the Raiders.

But three or four minor, late-period missteps do not a less-than-perfect 3cd set make. The Complete Columbia Singles is a (nearly) career-spanning look at the singles output of one of America’s finest — and most criminally underrated — rock and roll bands. Highly recommended to anyone who’s a fan of rock music in general, and of the sixties variants in particular, The Complete Columbia Singles is an essential addition to the collection of any serious music fan.

Keep an eye out for my feature on the band, coming soon.

When Jason Ringenberg and his merry band of men (the Scorchers) came out with their debut EP Fervor in 1983, it was a breath of fresh air (or a kick in the ass; take your pick) to the music scene. Other bands had tried to bridge the gaps between country and rock, and with various degrees of success. But nobody could crank out C&W story-song lyrics and apply them to high-octane rock and roll like Jason and the Scorchers. Whether on an original track like “Help There’s a Fire” or “Hot Nights in Georgia,” or an epic interpretation of a Dylan tune (the absolutely brilliant “Absolutely Sweet Marie”), the group seemed destined for greatness.

And they were great. Their 1985 full-length debut Lost & Found is a classic of any genre. But fashions change quickly, and while the quality of the music remained, the market did not. Jason and the Scorchers faded from their high-profile place in the scene.

But Jason and the Scorchers never completely went away. And since they never really left, it’s less than accurate to say that they’re back. Yet in a sense they are, since the brand new 2010 release Halcyon Times finds Ringenberg and his latest lineup of Scorchers (some of whom, it’s only fair to say, have been with him since ‘96) true to form. All of the punk sneer, humor, fiery playing and brilliant arranging is on display.

This reviewer isn’t primarily a lyrics-oriented sort, but one can’t help but be won over by lyrics such as these: “Likes the Stones / hates the Doors / Thinks the Beatles sing for girls.” This “Mary Had a Little Lamb” melody applied to a Cash-meets-cowpunk arrangement even features a brief snippet lifted right off the ‘83 EP.

Many of the story songs on Halcyon Times evoke times and places in history. Across the fourteen songs, the years 1984, 1937, 1993, 1910, 1956, 1992, 2003 are all mentioned, in that order. Lyrics refer to being 19, 21, 25, to waiting sixteen years, and to the Viet Nam War. Overall, it’s a wistful album full of all the piss and vinegar that you’d expect.

Crazed, distorted electric guitars sit comfortably alongside mandolins and harmonicas. Brad Jones‘ expert, organic production keeps all the instruments separate yet blended. In places, Ringenberg’s epic storytelling heads into Springsteen-Geldof territory, but the words never, ever get in the way of the rousing (or moving) instrumental dimension of each performance.

Perhaps Halcyon Times is as out of step stylewise as Fervor was in ‘83. Perhaps not. For anyone who likes country and rock, this sure as hell beats watered-down pabulum from the likes of such country-rock pretenders as the Eagles. And it’s a great, fun listen. As one of the players exclaims at the end of a track, “I knew there was a reason I woke up this morning!” Listening to Halcyon Times is reason enough.

Well, not really. Not at all. I’m busy with a bunch of interviews, and with giving critical listens/watches to a stack of cool stuff. Each will be detailed and recommended in its turn, and soon. Here’s some of what’s coming in the next few days:

• Beyond Reality, the latest album (out now) from Dutch progressive group Mangrove. In their music I hear hints of just-post-Gabriel-era Genesis (in other words, before Genesis got way-lame) and, um, echoes (ha!) of pre-Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd. Tuneful, interesting stuff.
• The Complete Columbia Singles (out this week) is a long-overdue 3cd set from Paul Revere and the Raiders. I’ll have a lot to say about this, having in recent days interviewed Mark Lindsay, Phil “Fang” Volk and manager Roger Hart.
• Jason and the Scorchers‘ latest, Halcyon Days, also out this week. All of the fire of the great stuff we remember Jason for, and he’s still at it with this consistently entertaining new album.
• The Apples in Stereo - Travellers in Space and Time (out April 20) is sixteen tracks of vocoder-y, keyboardly goodness, and crammed full of winning, hooky, ear-candy melodies.
• New Morning: The Tokyo Concert is a live DVD from Mick Taylor. Featuring Max Middleton on keys, it’s an excellent live document of this still-impressive axeman.

If you dig (or think you’ll dig) any of the above, this might be an excellent time to start following me on Twitter…

Follow “the_musoscribe” on Twitter and get notified
when new features, reviews and essays are published.

Ember was a tiny, independent British label based in England. Primarily oriented toward singles, the label’s forays into album rock were limited. But during that incredibly fertile period of the late sixties and early 70s, Ember released some fascinating — and rarely-heard — music. A new compilation collects some of the best of that material. The title is long but sums up what’s contained therein: Looking Toward the Sky: Progressive, Psychedelic and Folk Rock from the Ember Vaults. Unlike some barrel-scraping compilations, this set is filled to the brim with fascinating, high quality music.

Inveterate, incurable cratediggers will recognize a (very) few of the artists spotlighted on Looking Towards the Sky, but that’s all. Hardcore psych collectors may be familiar with the internet discussion group U-SPACES (this writer subscribed back in the 90s and continues to this day). That group has made as part of its mission the collecting of “un-comped” tracks of the era, with a special focus on non-album tracks. To date, dozens of unofficial volumes have been compiled, and the quality level is surprisingly high, giving weight to the theory that there were well over ten thousand garage bands in the 60s, and that most of them had at least one very good original song in them.

But with Looking Towards the Sky, the compilers have limited themselves to the output of a single label. Has that resulted in a dip in quality? Not at all. This eclectic collection might not offer something for everyone, but it provides something — and lots of it — for fans of particular styles, and does so in astounding audio fidelity. (And that’s no mean feat: owing to the scarcity of master tapes, some of these tracks are sourced from vinyl.)

Surprisingly, Looking Towards the Sky features more than a few American acts. Apparently these bands couldn’t get a stateside deal. We’re lucky Ember ponied up.

The disc kicks off with the first of two 1972 cuts from an act called 9.30 Fly. “Life and Times” features a delivery that evokes Fairport Convention crossed with It’s a Beautiful Day. While the song’s arrangement could benefit from a bit of tightening, there are enough tasty licks and hooks to result in a memorable tune. Nimble yet forceful drumming is a hallmark of the track.

The Dorians‘ “Help for My Waiting” from 1969 is a highlight of the disc. No less than three distinct guitars (lead fuzz, trilling acoustic and kazoo-distorto lead fill) propel the song, and they’re only the beginning. Hooks abound, and simple-yet-tasty organ washes are sprinkled across the track. The Ontario band’s vocalist has an impressive range. Perhaps more than any other track on Looking Towards the Sky, “”Help for my Waiting” sounds like it could have been a hit.

Blonde on Blonde’s “Heart Without a Home” from 1970 kicks off with a guitar imitating a jews harp. A drum pattern vaguely reminiscent of Norman Greenbaum’s “Spirit in the Sky” pushes the song forward. Echo-chamber vocals and droning guitars give the track a slightly otherworldly feel, a vibe consistent with much of Blonde on Blonde’s other work (this is the one act with which this reviewer was previously familiar). A heavily psychedelic guitar solo is the cherry on top of this delight.

Blue Beard’s “Losing You” channels Iron Butterfly, but those of you who are thinking of “In-a-gadda-da-vida,” forget it. What we have here is a speedy tune with intricate playing, more on the order of “Unconscious Power.” Vacuum tone lead guitar, dueling licks between bass and wah-wah guitar, stop-start drumming and an infectious hook all come together to make a great tune. Previously unreleased, “Losing You” was part of an aborted album project from 1971.

Rusty Harness‘ “Goodbye” dates from 1970, but listeners will be forgiven for placing its release closer to 1966. A garage rocker replete with insistent Farfisa licks, hand claps and shouted chorus, “Goodbye” is a lost garage classic worth of revival.

“Doin’ the Best I Can” is a high quality folk-rocking 1970 b-side from an Irish group called Paddy Maguire. Except for the vocals, this could be a lost track from Procol Harum, albeit with a more pronounced gospel feel similar to early works from The Band. The liner notes allege the involvement of one Steve Winwood, and that sure does sound like him on organ.

A group calling itself Knocker Jungle is featured next, with “I Don’t Know Why” from 1970. The liner notes compare the track to early (folk-era) Tyrannosaurus Rex, and the involvement of Fairport Convention’s rhythm section on the track makes it more than it would otherwise be. The single’s b-side “Reality” follows; the song sounds like a hippy’s idea of what you’d get if you crossed early Traffic with Muswell Hillbillies-era Kinks. Not bad.

Blonde on Blonde’s “Sad Song for an Easy Lady” starts out sounding like James Taylor, but quickly gives way to something delightfully unexpected. Aggressive harmonica, punchy bass and distorted fuzz guitar come together to answer the question “what would a psychedelic-progressive campfire singalong sound like?” Amazing, really. The bass sounds like a cello; perhaps it was played with a bow?

The opening salvo of “Mr 509″ from 9.30 Fly sounds like nothing so much as Love Sculpture, but — being progressive rock — makes a quick left turn into something more subtle and beautiful. A bass figure provides the song’s hook, and heavily Leslie’d guitar licks support the dreamy vocals. A bracing midsection sounds straight out of “Lay Down” from the Strawbs. (Note that “Lay Down” was released in 1972, the same year as this track.) The song is stuffed to the brim with ideas; in some ways it’s similar to The Who’s “A Quick One (While He’s Away)” in its successful incorporation of several musical ideas. A tasty guitar solo rewards listeners who (as they should) hang on towards the end.

The Dorians’ lilting “Good Love” stakes out a vibe closer to West Coast rock, melding it with vocals reminiscent of the Association. It couldn’t be more different than “Help for My Waiting” (track #2 on this set) from a mere two years earlier).

Davey Payne and the Medium Wave give the set its title. The 1969 “Looking Toward the Sky” feature prominent horn charts, but rocks nonetheless. (A frequent argument on the U-SPACES list concerns the merits — or lack thereof — of “horn rock”.) A busy bass line and tasteful strings are successfully incorporated into the brief track.

1971’s “Disaster Area” from Milt Matthews Inc. cranks out the fuzz on a soul-inflected number evocative of the harder end of the Detroit sound (early Bob Seger, MC5, Mitch Ryder, etc.).

Blonde on Blonde is represented by a third cut on Looking Towards the Sky: “Circles” (not the Who song). With an eclectic vibe, the song sounds like “Paint It, Black” -era Stones, Love Sculpture (again) and the Open Mind all at once, but Blonde on Blonde manages to combine all those styles into something lighter and more progressive all at once. Imagine a technically precise Keith Moon and you’ll have some sense of what the drumming is like on this tune. An impossibly distorted guitar solo sends thing irretrievably (and wonderfully) into acid-rock territory. The song does go on a bit longer than perhaps it ought, but it doesn’t wear out its welcome.

“This Ain’t the Road” was a 1969 single from Back Street Band. Sounding quite a bit like Honeybus, the band turns in a well-produced song that sounds like it could work well as a pub singalong. It’s a fine tune to end the disc, and it’s vaguely reminiscent of Jefferson Airplane’s “Volunteers” albeit with a fine string overdub.

For fans of the music of the late sixties, Looking Towards the Sky is a treasure trove. Only the most hardcore of aficionados will have heard of (much less actually heard) this music before. But that’s owing to the vagaries of distribution, coupled with the surfeit of good musical ideas in that long-gone era. Put another way, if you like this sort of stuff, this is an absolutely essential purchase. And apparently there’s more to come…