Continuing with Mr. Roy Harper. Probably not one of his best albums, but definitely early on, and the guitar playing is already hypnotically brilliant if the songwriting isn't all that. I love it, in any case, and you may too.
Showing posts with label Folk-Rock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Folk-Rock. Show all posts
Monday, March 1, 2010
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Gone at the Flick of a Sledge
Always loved this guy, since picking up Folkjokeopus on LP in 1994 or so. This is one of my favorites of his songs. His albums are kind of spotty in general, bits of brilliance, bits of filler. And Folkjokeopus is very 60s in its way, lots of raga-guitar and I'm-stoned-too silliness.
Not that I have a problem with either of those things. I'll post it in the next couple days.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Touched the Parts You Couldn't Reach
My first, and most personal, encounter with Mr. Hitchcock's distinct blend of jangly folk-rock and misdirection-filled lyrics. Bought on cassette in high school. It still sounds great to me two decades later. Peter Buck (of REM) plays guitar, mandolin, etc. Despite somewhat 80s-ified production, it's aurally gorgeous, and the songs are among his catchier and most approachable. Not a jangle out of place, and lyrics tend toward the almost-normal, with very few insects or vibrating fish guts... though the line "He's a long kebab through your ovaries" (from The Devil's Coachman, about the devil presumably), always makes me squirm a bit. Anyway, it's good stuff.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Weighted Down By The Gun
One of those CD reissues that would have been better without all the bonus tracks. I mean, I love bonus tracks. I just don't want to hear them while I'm listening to the album. If you know what I mean. I'm not sure where the original album left off, but I cut this into two pieces (usual size restriction reasons) and it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you didn't bother with the second piece.
Anyway, this is demented country-rock genius, containing psychedelically blissful harmonies and airy free-fall in song form, as well as Waylon-on-Quaaludes moments, and also a startlingly Tom Waits impression, time travelled 20 years early.
Supposedly Skip, having broken up Moby Grape by taking an axe to a bandmate's hotel room door, got out of the mental hospital and rode his motorcycle cross-country to the studio, where he made the album completely alone. What you hear here matches the myth, though possibly not in the ways you'd think.
No relation to Joseph Spence.
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