THE BLUES PROJECT: PLANNED OBSOLESCENCE (1968)
1) If You Gotta Make A Fool Of
Somebody; 2) Calypso; 3) Frank'n'Curt Incensed; 4) Turtledove; 5) Mojo Hannah;
6) Niartaes Hornpipe; 7) Endless Sleep; 8) She Raised Her Hand; 9) Dakota
Recollection; 10*) Gentle Dreams.
Bravely ironic title: not even the Beatles,
assembled at Abbey Road Studios for what they all felt was to be their last
collective recording session, dared to slap an ill-omened title like that on
the final product. Of course, The Blues Project had a very good reason: by
1968, with Kooper, Katz, and Kalb out of the picture, the original lineup was
reduced to Kulberg and Blumenfeld. Addition of such new members as Donald
Kretmar on sax, John Gregory on guitar, and Richard Greene on violin, meant
that the tables had turned completely — yet, on the other hand, the music that
this entirely new configuration came up with seems strangely compatible, to a
large degree, with The Blues Project of old.
Except that there is nothing seriously bluesy
about this music now. The two main directions actively pursued are now
country/bluegrass (fueled by the violin of newcomer Greene) and serene folk
balladry, with or without a pinch of psychedelia. As the roots-rock revolution
was in full swing, so did the revamped Blues Project, too, decide that
embracing the good old soil and its vegetative contents was the correct thing
to do. As a team of musicians, they had all the proper skills and resources to
do it — as composers and artists, they had predictable problems.
The major highlight of the album is probably
its opening track, a cover of Rudy Clarke's ʽIf You Gotta Make A Fool Of
Somebodyʼ. It is not shorn of inventiveness — opening with a little bit of
flamenco before settling into an R&B-with-fiddle groove, later to be
complemented with chaotic flute solos and finally building up towards an
explosive climax. The problem is that, as a «groove», the track does not have
enough power or sharpness, and as a «song», it does not have a memorable
musical theme to go along with. And the multiple segments of which it is
composed do not quite agree with each other. Why the bold Spanish introduction,
if it gives way to a feeble violin lead line? Why the flute soup, if this is
fiddle territory? Why the noisy climax and crash-boom-bang at the end if the
song was never all that tense to begin with?
Which is all pretty illustrative of the album
in general: a bunch of dudes with a bunch of incoherent ideas at a crossroads.
A lot of stuff is tried out — almost none of it works. Worst of the lot is
ʽDakota Recollectionʼ, a twelve-minute attempt to recapture the success of
ʽFlute Thingʼ that immediately degenerates into a jazzy jam with competent, but
boring flute, violin, fuzz guitar, and drum solos, the likes of which were
generated in droves by dozens of artists at the time. Difference from ʽFlute
Thingʼ? Lack of a properly resonant main theme, of course: the theme as such is
almost indistinguishable from the solos that follow, and everything is played
with such a limp attitude that it's a wonder everybody managed to keep awake
for all of the twelve minutes it took to draw the track to a complete stop.
Then again, if the title makes any sense, what else could one expect from one's recollections of the merry states of
Dakota?
Not all of the album is just fiddle-and-flute
games. ʽFrank'n'Curt Incensedʼ, ʽMojo Hannahʼ, and ʽEndless Sleepʼ do try to
rock out, fuzzy distorted guitars, screechy vocals (mostly courtesy of John
Gregory) and all; but there are no cool riffs, and the energy level remains
chained to the average pub-rock level expected from your local bar band. In
this context, I rather prefer their softest, gentlest numbers, like ʽCalypsoʼ
or ʽTurtledoveʼ, where Kulberg's pastoral flute exercises at least find full
justification (the ridiculous backward-vocals bit at the end of ʽCalypsoʼ,
however, does not, falling victim to the psychedelic atavisms of the time).
True to the title, Planned Obsolescence was the only album recorded by this lineup;
out of its ashes, a year later, rose and briefly flourished the short-lived
band of Seatrain, more focused and goal-oriented during its peak periods but,
in general, also suffering from poor songwriting skills. That said, serious
fans and scholars of late-Sixties roots-rock should not ignore the album — lack
or presence of «genius» is, after all, a subjective concept, and in objective
terms, there are enough unusual tricks and combinations displayed here to
attract the attention of somebody who, for instance, is deeply curious about
the different ways in which it is possible to combine pastoral flute, honky
tonk fiddle, and psycho-fuzz guitar on one album. (Even if each and every one
of these ways is ultimately boring and pointless — but this is no scholarly
talk).
Technically speaking, this IS a Seatrain album. However, Blues Project still owed the label an album, so their name was slapped on the cover. That's why it is called "Planned Obsolescence"; the band was already obsolete at the time, and this was an intended closing of the sarcophagus.
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