815. rambling on

“I came across Procol Harum‘s second album (Shine on Brightly) sometime in the teenybop blur of my very early teens. My friend Joseph had it, grabbed from his older sister who’d lost interest. We played it a lot, getting off on the ‘out there’ lyrics and the not too shabby songs that gave them room to move. The rather aptly titled Rambling On concerns a guy who sees a Batman movie and decides he can fly, which doesn’t make sense because everybody knows that Batman can’t fly. Eventually the guy comes crashing to earth but doesn’t get hurt, just tears his underclothes. Not exactly on par with Bob Dylan’s symbolist offerings (which is how people were thinking of these guys at the time) but good, solid psychedelic fun regardless.” (Philip Random)

816. not to touch the earth

“I didn’t really twig to this track until I saw the Doors movie, which I realize I’m not supposed to like (or am I?), the whole thing just being so absurdly over the top — Val Kilmer chewing not just the cheap studio scenery, but great chunks of the Mojave desert as well. Except it’s true, all that excess. The psychedelic 60s were that weird, eruptive, wild, kicking into overdrive by 1967, blowing through to the darkness beyond the ozone by 1968, which is where Not To Touch The Earth comes in. You’re so high you’re not sure if you’re worm or a god, or maybe just some long dead Indian who snuck into your eggshell skull during a thunderstorm in the desert when you were still a small boy.” (Philip Random)

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868. hey bulldog

Even at their least essential, the Beatles couldn’t help being a great f***ing rock and roll band, particularly if John Lennon was unleashing his inner bulldog. Originally found on the soundtrack to Yellow Submarine.

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876. you always stand in my way

Aphrodite’s Child are a weird one from the 1960s, a sort of pop-psychedelic outfit that managed to be both sonically extreme and sentimentally cloying, sometimes in the same song. And oh yeah, they came from Greece. You Always Stand In My Way goes resolutely for the extreme edge of things, with singer Demis Roussos (who would eventually settle into a prosperous career as an easy listening fave) giving his wailing all, whilst keyboardist Vangelis (yes, that Vangelis) tears things up on lead mellotron. I actually found this one in a yard sale sometime in the early 90s, maybe paid a buck for it, the guy who sold it to me sort of scratching his head and mumbling, oh yeah, this bloody record.” (Philip Random)

908. can you dig my vibrations?

In which Doug Sahm (aka Sir Douglas Quintet) finds himself in barely post Summer of Love (and madness) Haight-Ashbury (while fleeing a Texas drug bust) and gets in touch with some pretty serious vibrations. “Serious enough to percolate through the decades and finally find me in early winter 1999, stoned on some un-named island, half-seriously wondering if the world was going to end at midnight, New Years Eve. They settled me. The vibrations, that is.” (Philip Random)

946. prelude + nightmare

On one level, the Crazy World of Arthur Brown was the definition of a one hit novelty act. Light your hair on fire, howl like a crazy person, give the kids something to scream about. But listen closely to that debut album and you’ll realize there’s depth beyond all the surface craziness – a singer who can work four octaves and a band that can cook for sure, but they can also play the changes, turn a mood on its head, tear your head off in the process.

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