Post by rayge on Jun 11, 2019 13:55:52 GMT
A bit of a throwback here, hearing Ornette record something that's formally the equivalent of the three-minute singles that defined jazz recordings before the album era and the rise of Blue Note in the 1950s. As others have said, it's a long way from the squonking and harmolodics usually associated with him (which I also quite like if I'm in the mood) and I could easily have been convinced it was recorded in the early be bop era. Ultimately, though, I think you have to understand music to fully meld with this sort of thing, and I don't, so it seems pretty but inconsequential to me 5.5 / 10
B of course, I know well. In fact, from the time of its release, to that of Anarchy in the UK and No Future, I considered it indisputably the greatest single ever released by a British artist. The two or three times it appeared on Top of the Pops, with the band dressed in gorilla suits and other weird costumes, forgetting about miming, and throwing custard pies at one another and generally having a big romping fun time, better represent what I feel about this record (and indeed the early run of proto-Spector Wizzard singles as a whole, although this is definitely the stand-out), but I checked them out on youtube, and apart from the usual lousy sound, they were also cut short – a great pity when the breakdown of the the last minute of this is a true glory, especially on headphones super-loud, which is really the only way to get the full joy from it, as the voices tumble and travel from speaker to speaker, creating the agreeable notion that the record is actually happening inside your head. I remember one listening to this at volume 10 (the amp didn't go up to 11) on phones whilst tripping, and someone came down from upstairs to complain that the sound leaking from the headphones was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her work. It's a wonder that I still have the hearing I do. I love it because it's perfect in its inconsequentiality, because Roy sings about tenor horns turning him on and proceeds to provide solos for fluegelhorn and baritone sax, for its Spectorized production and everything including the kitchen sink arrangement, its Brummagen heavy metal thunder avant la lettre, with the guitar relegated to its best role as a rhythm instrument, its humour (not just the words, the music too), its jugganauth of a chorus and great backing vocals, but mostly because it captures better than almost anything else I can imagine the sheer howling joy of being young, alive and in love with music: it helps that at the time I was desperately, if unrequitedly, in love with a long-legged lady, also from Birmingham, who loved to dance, and would fly around the living room to this one.
Even now, at maybe the 500th listen, it's capable of bringing a tear to my rheumy 70-year-old eyes, and a certain redemptive quality to my miserable mood. Which after all is What Pop Music is For. 8.5 /10
B of course, I know well. In fact, from the time of its release, to that of Anarchy in the UK and No Future, I considered it indisputably the greatest single ever released by a British artist. The two or three times it appeared on Top of the Pops, with the band dressed in gorilla suits and other weird costumes, forgetting about miming, and throwing custard pies at one another and generally having a big romping fun time, better represent what I feel about this record (and indeed the early run of proto-Spector Wizzard singles as a whole, although this is definitely the stand-out), but I checked them out on youtube, and apart from the usual lousy sound, they were also cut short – a great pity when the breakdown of the the last minute of this is a true glory, especially on headphones super-loud, which is really the only way to get the full joy from it, as the voices tumble and travel from speaker to speaker, creating the agreeable notion that the record is actually happening inside your head. I remember one listening to this at volume 10 (the amp didn't go up to 11) on phones whilst tripping, and someone came down from upstairs to complain that the sound leaking from the headphones was making it difficult for her to concentrate on her work. It's a wonder that I still have the hearing I do. I love it because it's perfect in its inconsequentiality, because Roy sings about tenor horns turning him on and proceeds to provide solos for fluegelhorn and baritone sax, for its Spectorized production and everything including the kitchen sink arrangement, its Brummagen heavy metal thunder avant la lettre, with the guitar relegated to its best role as a rhythm instrument, its humour (not just the words, the music too), its jugganauth of a chorus and great backing vocals, but mostly because it captures better than almost anything else I can imagine the sheer howling joy of being young, alive and in love with music: it helps that at the time I was desperately, if unrequitedly, in love with a long-legged lady, also from Birmingham, who loved to dance, and would fly around the living room to this one.
Even now, at maybe the 500th listen, it's capable of bringing a tear to my rheumy 70-year-old eyes, and a certain redemptive quality to my miserable mood. Which after all is What Pop Music is For. 8.5 /10