from The Incredible String Band - Be Glad for the Song Has No Ending (1971)

A particularly ramshackle album from a particularly ramshackle folk band (not necessarily a bad thing; not necessarily a good one either; and The Incredible String Band often managed to exemplify both points almost simultaneously), gathering tunes and tapes that had been left on the shelf, and assembling a bunch of them in a large collage - "The song has no ending", which, not quite, but, as far as these things go, at 26 minutes or so, no one can accuse them of not giving it a go; although it never really goes from being a collection of musical moments (some better, some worse) to achieving any sort of musical gestalt. The purpose of it all? To soundtrack an obscure film about themselves, which I have never seen, but assume must have involved a lot of rolling around in mud before being ready for their close-up, and just be one of the oddest vanity projects ever (I do like the title, though). 

In any case, at this tipping point in their career, looking backwards was probably a wiser move than going forward, considering the sorry shots at folk-rock commercialism that were to come, whose only merit was to make us better appreciate the inspired sloppiness of yore. Proving that point, while the album seems to consist mostly of background music (which, again, was still a step up from being actively bad) for hippie encampments in the woods (which can have their momentary charm - until you confront yourself with the 'bathroom' situation), they do still manage to recuperate one of those unlikely gems, "Vishangro", from when, who knows through what wild mushroom concoction that miraculously didn't kill them all, they would start off rambling about some dumb thing on the guitar, only to end up with a transcendental tale of transmigration that streams along like a wandering soul. 

In the end, it really was a matter of getting it while it lasts; and all in all, it's a good thing they did.

from Monica Törnell - Alrik (1973)

The opener, "Öje brudmarsch", while supposedly a wedding march, sounds much more like what you might expect to come out of that cover: a viking call to arms hollered by a swedish counterpart to those tribal badass grrrls in war painting that were the only iconically noteworthy thing to come out of those proudly big and dumb post-Descent films by Neil Marshall; so these must have been some nuptials to behold. 

Unfortunately, in this record, it's like that character got ditched right away, so I'm left to sit through the rest of it deprived of the one thing I could get invested in. She still gets a couple of flashbacks going forward (like "Inte äger jag gods och guld (Dalpolska upptecknad på Nicolai polisstation)" or "Suplåt"), even if they don't quite feel like full sequences, and otherwise Törnell goes on impersonating a string of musical types available for a female interpreter of the 70's to show some range (blues singer, pop-rock star, night-club performer, folk high-priestess) - which makes it not so surprising that she would also, further down the line, become a Eurovision contestant; a move that pretty much symbolized the demise of the whole progg (for "progressiv musik") movement and its wide anti-establishment stance, which apparently had even successfully called into question Sweden's participation in the competition back in 1976 (those were the days). 
As such, even if her consistent 'what you lookin' at?' sort of delivery gives the album a measure of cohesion, my most lasting impression is still that of it being a bit of a tonal mess. Now, if there were a sequel or a prequel to this entirely devoted to letting Törnell's freak flag fly, that would certainly be worth tracking down, and one viking call I would heed. Just let me dust off my horned helmet, and we're good to go.

from Erasmo Carlos - 1990 - Projeto Salva Terra! (1974)

In all fairness, I am not at all familiar with Erasmo's career and, considering his association with heart-throb superstar (no idea why) Roberto Carlos, I can't say that's a priority for me; so I have no idea what his deal was; but this record, which I can't for the life of me recall how I ever came to cross paths with, suggests that, at least at the time it came out, neither did he. There's some awful stuff in here (as that cover duly warned us, in what can only be understood as a legally binding graphic caveat emptor, making us share in the blame for, having seen it, still going ahead and actually listen to what's inside), particularly a few country and piano rock numbers, which immediately made this album one I never imagined could harbor anything redeeming; but, surprise, surprise, "Deitar e Rolar" is a breezy number that could give Marcos Valle's best tunes a run for their money (not that there's all that many of them either, for my taste anyway), and "Cachaça Mecânica" is a fatalistic march that borrows to good effect a number of Chico Buarque tropes, from Funeral de um Lavrador to Construção (perhaps, again, via Marcos Valle's borrowing of the same, also for one of his best songs, Samba Fatal), and that is always a sign of good taste worth acknowledging. Pity it appears to have been little more than a sign, judging by this album, but I'd have to investigate further to pass a final sentence on the matter. 
I might also just live with the doubt.

from Electric Sandwich (1972)

"China" is almost all most krautrock aficionados have come to expect from a guitar freak-out out of 1970's Germany - unencumbered by technique or convention, and rhythmically driven to the point where repetition becomes addiction. Too bad the rest of this album is more or less like all the generic hard-psych-blues-rock-whathaveyou from 1970's Germany you so often have to dig through trying to get to some other China.

Oh well, at least this time we tunneled in the right direction. Try doing that with a Birth Control record, and you're more likely to end up as Morlock fodder.

from Kha-Ym - 10 ''GMT (1979)

Even if due to a partly equivocal mix-up with symphonic rock, prog tends to get associated, as a whole, with big productions, lots of bombast and technology (as materialized in the form of such quaint apparatuses as those synth-cubicles); and yet, like any genre that developed some kind of grassroots appeal, even there you had your struggling artists, trying to make it out of their parents' garage. 

This is one such case; a lo-fi rudimentary stab at some form of electronic prog out of France, to which, in one of those ironies of history, the future can be kinder than its present ever would, as its dated technological markings can nowadays offer themselves to a lot of retro fetishism, whose focus on its primary objects of desire tends to benevolently smooth out the kinks of the package they came in. 

For my part, since synthesizers aren't exactly something that can in and of itself get my motor running, this record's potential charm (aside from the "It's alive!"-looking cover photo; that's good fun) lasts for about the duration of the first track, "Balance" - this, despite its rough beginning, where they sound like their compatriots Shylock having misplaced their tuner; but which they then make up for by going into unexpected overdrive. After that, I really needed the presence of some stronger ideas, that actually worked with the specific material circumstances in which this music was made, instead of making it feel remedial because they just couldn't get 'better' production values; but, then again, even with all the caveats, I suppose that (electronic) prog wasn't exactly the genre most fit to understand that it's not so much the production values you have, it's what you do with them. 

from TransChamps - Double Exposure (2001) [EP]

Trans Am and The Fucking Champs (who must be pretty sure of themselves, though I don't hear it), two bands which I am slightly (the first) or barely (the second) familiar with, apparently joined in on this EP for an unapologetic trip down guilty pleasures lane, only to prove that they are guilty for a reason - unless you take them as creative starting points and not ready-made templates; but for the most part that is not what you get here. A couple of tracks in particular (and apparently more in the Champs' wheelhouse), with some juvenile double-tracked electric guitars, don't even meet the high-school hard-rock band standard. Beyond that, they go for a more acoustic pastoral number, and another one with some goth-sounding guitars, that don't strive to be anything more that merely ok (which they merely are), but it's only on "The big machine", with its mechanical jolts and electrical discharges, that they get creative with their inspiration, and show they could come up with something exciting together. Even if it feels a bit derivative of the King Crimson sound circa Lark's Tongues in Aspic - particularly of what Jamie Muir's percussion work brought to it, with his unconventional kit of things to make noises with (from which Bill Bruford, drumming alongside him, subsequently took a lot for his own style) - they do put it to good use, so I can't complain. Otherwise, I'm just relieved that I have never listened to a Whitesnake album; if I had, I suspect I might have come out of this with a newfound appreciation for their art... 

from Jan Dukes de Grey - Sorcerers (1970)

Usually there's only one reason for anyone to track down this album, and it's because they became fans of Jan Dukes de Grey's insane sophomore release and tried to find if they could get their hands on some more of the delirious same, only to find out that the answer is a resounding no, as this doesn't really hold a candle to Mice And Rats In The Loft - even if you can retrospectively see a little something of the latter in the former, as no more than a year separates their release dates. There is the same sort of intense, bordering on paranoid, approach (they don't call it acid folk for nothing), with an almost hostile delivery, full of up-close vocals and hyperactive instrumental noodling. However, on this one, the musical resources are much scantier (I know there's other stuff, but all I can ever remember hearing is acoustic guitars, congas, and some flutes) and the material is all fractured into tiny songs, which sound very much alike, being given no chance to evolve in any way, as there's 18 of them crammed into one LP - in diametrical opposition to the mere 3 that made up the follow-up, each given all the elbow room they needed to spread their manic wings. "Trust Me Now" (clearly the last thing you should do when it comes to these guys), with its conga-driven one-guitar-riff pushiness, apparently at the service of a hard pitch for us to jump off a cliff (you know, normal stuff), is probably the best résumé of what this still very weird record is all about, but I just don't have room for more 17 near identical songs in my musical loft. That's where the psychotic mice roam.

from Easter Island (1979)

One good thing about CD reissues of old prog LPs is that they sometimes break down into different tracks those overwrought suites, wherein a few snippets of good music would sometimes get shackled with a lot of ludicrous stuff, and which you couldn't get to without suffering through all the fantasy moog schlock in which they were encased, just to satisfy another one of the many equivocal assumptions associated with the genre - that the longer the compositions, the more progressive they are (which eventually led to the consecration of side-long album tracks as the rite of passage for the automatic cultural classification of an act as supposedly 'progressive'). Case in point? "Telesterion", once an instrumental section of "The Alchemist's Suite" (which practically (oh, so close...) filled the B-side of this US prog album), that was finally allowed to shake its compositional multi-part bondage, and can now, with its spacey synths and tribal drumming, experience a free and autonomous aesthetic existence as just a nice slice of mood prog; one that wants nothing to do with all that chrysopoeia shtick.

from The Climax Blues Band - Plays On (1969)

This is a decent platter, for what it is, but what it is is british blues rock, and that's usually too derivative a genre to really pique my interest (even if one can acknowledge that it laid the groundwork for many a fine musical thing to come out of old Albion). Nothing in here is exactly subpar, but it isn't particularly exciting or innovative either: even when they try to zag, it's to ape Also Sprach Zaratustra, which still gets them no points for originality (at least they didn't go for the levels of classicalsploitation© Deodato's funky version would, later on). Despite all that, the opener "Flight" does offer a nice electric ride, and it doesn't get bogged down by all the faux-"my baby done left me" stuff, so I can see myself revisiting that one from time to time.

from 浅川マキ [Maki Asakawa] - Maki II (1971)

Asakawa's second album follows the lead from the first. "花いちもんめ" and her take on the traditional Krishna chant "ゴビンダ (Govinda)" sound to this day remarkably hip and entrancing - a couple of oriental psych-folk-jazz bangers that can easily remind us of why folks like George Harrison & Co. were drawn to those parts of the world, and how it all came together -, while the rest of the record meanders about in a more or less loungy way. On the plus side, I'm thinking that if I listen to enough Asakawa records (there's quite a few to choose from), I just might be able to put together a top-notch personal anthology yet. More to follow, I guess...