“In which motorikly inclined German hippies Neu! do their bit to invent post-punk a good three or four years before we even had Punk. Of course, I wouldn’t discover Lila Engel until at least ten years after all that, so for me, it had more to do with providing an overall blueprint for the future of everything. Just lock that beat and lay down some music mixed with noise, because as a wise man once said (it might even have been me), we’ll always need a beat, and there will always be noise, might as well mix in some music.” (Philip Random)
As evolutions go, the outfit known as Renaissance worked a weirder one than most. Originally formed out of the meltdown of the Yardbirds (Keith Relf and Jim McCarty wanting to try their hand at something a little more sophisticated) it would, in time, pull what’s known as a Ship of Theseus (the Theseus’ paradox being a thought experiment, first posed in the late first century, that raises the question of whether an object that has had all of its components replaced remains fundamentally the same object). In Renaissance’ case, that meant all the original members were long gone by the time 1973’s Ashes Are Burning came along. And that “more sophisticated” sound – it had evolved into a mostly acoustic progressive rock that was nevertheless managed to get very big and dramatic when required, with Ashes Are Burning (the song) about as epic as they ever got. And soaring above it all, you had the inimitable voice of Annie Haslam, classically trained and as strong and vast and high and ghostly and beautiful a sound as has ever been heard on any kind of so-called rock song.
One of those Leonard Cohen songs you just never seem to hear. Possibly because it’s too long, though more likely because it’s thus far eluded the grasp of half-baked MOR interpreters. “Some people seem to hate this song. Probably because it is so long and relentless in its truth, as simple as a man with his hand out on the winter street, bitterly cold, barely hanging on, and all he asks is that you not ignore him, that you not just pass him by one more time.” (Philip Random)
“There ought to be a law that when a band changes its sound as thoroughly as the Doobie Brothers did in the mid-1970s, it should also be required to change its name, if only so future generations don’t get forever stuck confusing the cool, rocking stuff with the soft, latter day sponge ball stuff. Anyway, for the record, the Doobies peaked in about 1973 with an album called The Captain and Me that didn’t just boast mega-hit rockers like China Grove and Long Train Runnin’, it also had a stretched out mini-epic called Clear As The Driven Snow. Apparently it’s about cocaine abuse, but it’s always been more of a marijuana fave of mine.” (Philip Random)
Mott the Hoople at peak glam let it rip with one of those ain’t-life-on-the-road-a-drag raveups that makes it sound so damned fun you want to quit everything and join the first half-assed band that crosses your path, and never return, just go-go-go … at least as far as Memphis.
“The story of the Cosmic Jokers goes something like this. Germany 1973, a guy named Dieter Dierks is throwing cool parties in his studio, all musicians welcome. Just show up, gobble some acid, lay down some tracks. And he gets some top players throwing in. Members of Ash Ra Tempel and Wallenstein among others. Later on, Dierks would do more drugs and muck around with the tapes, maybe get his girlfriend to speak over things, then release it without telling anybody, or cutting them in on any royalties. Which got lawyers involved, and Cosmic Jokers relegated to the extremely rare Krautrock category. But Galactic Supermarket seems to have found me anyway.” (Philip Random)