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.