Randophonic is foremost a radio program that airs pretty much every Saturday night starting at 11pm (Pacific time) on CiTR.FM.101.9. You can read more about all that here.
For the time being, this blog will be a two-headed beast as it endeavours to:
A. keep track of what’s happening on-air (including regular links to podcast and streaming options). Our current concern in this regard is The Solid Time of Change (aka the 661 Greatest Records of the so-called Prog Rock era),
B. review some of our history, specifically Philip Random’s All Vinyl Countdown and Apocalypse (aka the 1,111 Greatest Records You’ve Probably Never Heard), which we’re revisiting one track at a time, one day at a time, for however long it takes.
Download Randophonic podcasts via this archive. Stream Randophonic programs via our Mixcloud. Stay on top of day to day stuff via our Facebook. Youtube playlists etc can be found here.
In which Jethro Tull remind us that July 20, 1969 may well have been the best day humanity’s ever known. Because even if there were brutal wars going on all over, children starving, good people going down – a man was walking on the f***ing moon (two of them actually), and if you were any older than three, you were watching it on TV. Including astronaut Michael Collins, who was the guy stuck back in the command module orbiting around while his two buddies got all the glory. Which is what the song’s really about. To be that close, yet so far away.
“Green on Red are yet another of those bands that never got the notice they deserved. Folk, rock, country, maybe a little psychedelic – they had a sound that was hard to get tired of, and, every now and then, a song like 1983’s Brave Generation (found on their first album) that just cut through all the cocaine banality of the time. At least, it did for me, probably because I’d never really thought much about my particular generation – the ones who were little kids when all the bigger kids (aka the hippies) were running wild, storming heaven, doing more than just talk about revolution. But that was all pretty much over by the time our puberty hit. The Beatles had broken up, Flower Power had wilted, Richard Nixon was getting re-elected, the Vietnam War still wasn’t over. I guess that made us brave more or less by default.” (Philip Random)
Installment #41 of the Solid Time of Change aired on Saturday June-17-2017 (c/o CiTR.FM.101.9).
Podcast (Solid Time begins a few minutes in). Youtube playlist (not entirely accurate).
The Solid Time of Change is our overlong yet incomplete history of the so-called Prog Rock era – 661 selections from 1965 through 1979 with which we hope to do justice to a strange and ambitious time indeed, musically speaking.
Part Forty-One of the journey went as follows:
- Gentle Giant – Pantagruel’s Nativity
- Gentle Giant – an inmate’s lullaby
- Genesis – in the cage
- Genesis – grand parade of lifeless packaging
- Genesis – back in NYC
- Genesis – hairless heart
- Genesis – counting out time
- Queen – march of the black queen
- Electric Light Orchestra – Eldorado overture
- Electric Light Orchestra – Can’t get it out of my head
- Electric Light Orchestra – Boy Blue
- Electric Light Orchestra – Laredo Tornado
- Electric Light Orchestra – Eldorado
- Electric Light Orchestra – Eldorado finale
- Can – bel air
Fresh episodes air pretty much every Saturday night, starting 11 pm (Pacific time) c/o CiTR.FM.101.9, with streaming and download options available within twenty-four hours via our Facebook page.
“In which T-Rex relax the groove a bit with an album cut that nevertheless sounds at least as big as its title. The album being Electric Warrior, and a gem it is from first note to final fade, cool and wild, and bubbling over with sensuous groove and delight. It even tastes good, I swear.” (Philip Random)
The cool kids were confused. What the hell was Neil Diamond doing at The Last Waltz, The Band’s farewell concert (still considered by many to be one of the greatest concerts in rock and roll history)? What he was doing was delivering the goods (in leisure suit, shades, freshly coiffed hair), destroying all notions of cool and uncool with a song that told the fierce and sad truth about what time does to us all. It removes us completely, but maybe if we cut the bullsh** at least some of the time, our songs remain.
It’s 1969 with the Euro hippie underground is in a state of serious flux and eruption in the wake of all the uprisings and insurrections of 1968. Nevertheless, Can (four German weirdoes and their American singer, poet, frontman who will soon go at least slightly mad) find a few moments to throw down a strange little ditty about the Upduff family and their troubled trip to Italy. WARNING: if your grandma dies while traveling in a region populated by well organized car theft rings, don’t wrap her up in a tarp and tie her to the top of the car.
Two in a row from Joe Walsh‘s The Smoker You Drink, The Player You Get. Everybody knows the big deal hit, the one about getting high, the Rocky Mountain way, and it’s a classic. But that goes for the whole album, a set of songs that are thankfully not all trying to be the same thing. In the case of Midnight Moodies, that means a cool instrumental groover, ideal for late night driving in warm climes. And then, it’s seamlessly into the reggae stylings (years before such became a soft rock cliché) of Happy Ways, which is truth in advertising. “One of the most genuinely happy songs I know. Dig into it a bit, and you discover it’s really bassist Kenny Passarelli‘s tune, who took the lead vocal, and he co-wrote it (as he did Rocky Mountain Way). All hail Barnstorm, the band. And Joe Walsh for letting everyone shine.” (Philip Random)
“In which Peter Tosh (ex of the Wailers) takes a Joe Higgs original about being dangerous indeed, and very much makes it very much his own. “It was released in 1977 but I didn’t really connect with it until the late 80s when so-called Gangsta rap was starting to hit hard, turning the uttering of threats into a functional musical vocabulary. Ah, the good ole days.” (Philip Random)
“If this was Texas, this song wouldn’t be on this list. Because we’d all know the Sir Douglas Quintet for the geniuses they were, Doug Sahm in particular. Hell we’d all probably be well sick of She’s About a Mover by now. But here (ie: everywhere else but Texas really) it’s a neglected rarity at best – the kind of thing you find at a yard sale, in the back of a box of 7-inch 45s, not even in a sleeve. Cost me twenty-five cents.” (Philip Random)