from Λήδα & Σπύρος [Lida & Spyros] - Ηλεκτρικός Αποσπερίτης (1972)

If this were all at the level of the stunning Άμε χελιδονάκι (up above), what a titan of a greek folk record it would have been. Sadly, the rest of this album almost makes it sound like that showstopper doesn't even belong here, as Lida & Spyros mostly prefer to dabble in watered-down folk-rock, diluting everything that could make this thing special with generic vocal harmonies and guitars, international style - it even opens with an harmonica, for Zeus' sake; you know, that staple of the Olympus sound.

Anyway, it's not all bad: Ειναι Κατι Καραβια Στο Λιμανι (below) is another fine song, breathing in the wind of ancient evenings (although, I am a sucker for the santouri and the swash of the sea, so you could probably even slather that on some limp bizkit and I'd eat it up); Έλα να δεις τον τόπο μου, the epic A-side of a 1974 single that resurfaced as a bonus track on a cd reissue of the album is also a must-hear; and about half of the remaining tunes are passable enough. Even so, there's no getting past the fact that, when you put something like Άμε χελιδονάκι on a record, you really need to be prepared to back it up all the way. To put it in terms this platter would understand, it's just like what happened when they would serve the ambrosia up there on the pantheon: you best be sure all them deities are gonna ask for more, and they'll get darn tootin' mad if you don't deliver.

from Mythos - Dreamlab (1975)

Mythos were one of those second-tier krautrock bands that took a ride on the coattails of the genre, but never seemed to contribute anything specific to it; and Dreamlab, their second album, largely confirms that. Some of it can be blandly pleasant - "Dedicated to Wernher von Braun" has a nice suspenseful atmosphere, like being locked in a space rocket waiting for the countdown -, and who knows, if they had dedicated all other tracks also to aerospace engineers - and preferably ones without all the "nazi schmatzi" background (to quote Tom Leher's satirical takedown) - maybe they could have come closer to kosmische realms. The most likely explanation for their failure to launch, though, is still that they just never had enough fuel in them for the takeoff.

from The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band - Part One (1967)

I go back and forth on this album: one minute it sounds like an inspired slice of west coast psychedelia, the next a generic slice of west coast psychedelia, and at least on two occasions ("Help, I'm a Rock" and "Leiyla") an obnoxious slice of west coast psychedelia. One thing is certain, though: Baker Knight's "Shifting Sands", paced like a somber waltz, burning with a fiery lead guitar, and caught in the pull of its own operative metaphor - pushing to the foreground how we mask choice as fate, to relieve us from the burden of decision or responsibility -, is one classic slice of west coast psychedelia.

from Steve Ashley - Stroll On (1974)

This starts off strong, with Ashley perfectly steeped in the british folk-rock ambiance of the day, in spirit and collaborators - drawn from the likes of The Albion Country Band and Fairport Convention, and including some orchestrations by Robert Kirby. The opener "Fire and Wine" brings on the rock, adding an evocative choral intro that leaves me eager for more surprises along the way (no such luck); and the following "Finite Time" brings on the folk, in an assured manner, not unlike some of Bert Jansch's mellower moments (with more basic fingerpicking). Unfortunately, the momentum gets lost after that, and never really picks up again, so the remainder is a bit like taking a road trip with a flat tire. Connoisseurs might still enjoy some of the ride up to the finish line; for the rest, you can probably get enough mileage out of those two tracks.

from Claudio Rocchi - Il miele dei pianeti, le isole, le api (1974)

One of the enfants terribles (or that in Italian) of the progressive/experimental scene(s) in crazy 1970's Italy, Claudio Rocchi, after leaving the highly politicized Stormy Six long before they hit their musical stride (with the perfectly accomplished masterpiece Un Biglietto del Tram), mostly turned to free-form electroacoustic ramblings as his aesthetic weapon of choice, with his voice front and center disregarding conventional musical considerations (thereby manifesting he was an artist), all of which tended to yield rather uneven results, and this album is no exception. Even if, on this occasion, he had more exotic timbral contributions from Italian musical globalists Aktuala going his way, things still start sounding a bit tiresome when not backed up by an extra dose of inspiration, talent, luck, guidance from the I Ching, or whatever explanatory device you find most convincing in these matters. Whatever it was, though, something did back him up on the opening track, because it is by far the best thing I ever heard from him; the true pantheist hymn he spent most of his career chasing, cowbells and all. Maybe he should have remembered what socks he wore that day: "fra il Tutto ed il Niente da sempre, per sempre", I'd say it's the thing he should rightfully be remembered for the most.