Armageddon: Armageddon

ARMAGEDDON: ARMAGEDDON (1975)

1) Buzzard; 2) Silver Tightrope; 3) Paths And Planes And Future Gains; 4) Last Stand Before; 5) Basking In The White Of The Midnight Sun.

It is somewhat unfortunate that these guys only lasted together for one album — on the other hand, I suppose that is pretty much what you have to expect if you give that kind of a name to your band. A genuinely true Armageddon can only happen once. Then the chief culprit gets elec­trocuted in the bathroom. (Or, rather, in the basement, as the updated and fact-checked story goes, but bathroom just sounds so cool, the myth will never die.)

Actually, the band came and went before the tragic demise of Keith Relf in 1976. At the heart of Armageddon stand two former members of the mediocre, but not hopeless British art-blues-rock band Steamhammer, guitarist Martin Pugh and bassist Louis Cennamo. Keith Relf was a good friend, a decent vocalist, and an inspiring influence, bringing on artistic baggage from his days in the Yardbirds and in early Renaissance (Cennamo also played bass in the latter). Finally, percus­sionist and occasional keyboardist Bobby Caldwell came from the equally artsy institution of Cap­tain Beyond.

Of course, the band couldn't have chosen a worse moment to pool their forces together: what they wanted to do was complex progressive rock with a gritty edge to it, and by 1975, prog rock's days as a major critical and commercial force were on the wane. And they couldn't even well enough pass themselves off for a «supergroup» — more like a rag-tag band of has-beens, what with nei­ther Steamhammer's, nor Relf's post-Yardbirds career having done all that much of a splash any­where inside the mainstream circles. They were also mismanaged, couldn't get enough tour boo­kings, etc. etc., the usual works.

All that was left was this one album, typical of the times and of the chosen direction: five tunes, four of which go over eight minutes. Funny as it may seem, the atmosphere does remind of the Yardbirds circa Roger The Engineer: the emphasis is on jerky, paranoid, highly nervous hard rock atmosphere, somewhat apocalyptic in nature indeed. Pugh and Relf form a good partnership. Keith has actually gone a long way from his Yardbirds days — there, overshadowed by the giant figures of the guitarists, he was merely there to ensure the band's not turning into a purely instru­mental outfit, and that was that. Now he is louder, huskier, and, overall, making more of a point than he ever used to. As for Pugh, his playing here is more concentrated and ecstatic than on any Steamhammer album — gallantly, he agrees to do his best to be the Clapton/Beck/Page six-string brother to Keith, and, at times, he is almost successful.

'Buzzard' is the one song from this album that everyone needs to hear. The song is built on one of the funkiest riffs of the decade, and with Cennamo's trippy bowed bass guitar playing off that riff and Relf entering the picture at top volume, the song fully justifies its title: if that ugly, evil wah-wah is not a fine embodiment of the ugly bird rearing in the sky in seek of prey, then nothing is. These eight minutes are fully justified, right down to the psychedelic harmonica solo and the high and mighty thirty-second coda, driving in these last nails with cruelly calculated brutality every bit as stunning as on early Jethro Tull records.

Unfortunately, the album never truly lives up to its powerful opener. The next three songs — the pleasant, but never-tear-inducing ballad 'Silver Tightrope'; the relatively simple blues-rock of 'Paths And Planes'; the metronomic hard rock swinging back and forth on 'Last Stand Before' — offer nothing unusual, even if the riffage is occasionally quite good. There just aren't enough musical ideas to justify the song lengths; the tunes are not too complex, not too tricky, not too un­predictable... and at the same time, they do not turn into visionary solo blasts, either — honestly, I'd rather have 'Last Stand Before' turn into a ten-minute long psychedelic Cream-like guitar jour­ney than just witness the band run through a set of so-so hard rock subsections.

The 'Buzzard'-like paranoid style only re­turns in full force on the last track, the 11-minute epic 'Basking In The White Of The Midnight Sun', and by then, the band has already embezzled much of the confidence. Truth be told, though, Armageddon ends just as powerfully as it starts.

I cannot pretend that the band was much more than a footnote in the annals of «rock as art», but they gelled together well, and, compared to the contemporaneous slowly forming hybrid of metal and prog à la Rush and its future offspring, had the distinction of being more colorful and less intensely serious (a nice genetic marker for almost every Sixties veteran). Frankly, I can't think of any other song in the entire prog genre that would try to do the thing of 'Buzzard'. I'm pretty sure that there are no «ifs» in this category, and that the band was doomed from the start, but it's fairly pleasing to have this album as a memento, and it feels right to give it a thumbs up in the hopes that someone will be adventurous enough to want to look for it. If anything, just think of it as the al­bum that drove Keith Relf to the bathroom, har har, uh, sorry about that.

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The Amboy Dukes: Tooth, Fang & Claw

THE AMBOY DUKES: TOOTH, FANG & CLAW (1974)

1) Lady Luck; 2) Living In The Woods; 3) Hibernation; 4) Free Flight; 5) Maybelline; 6) The Great White Buffalo; 7) Sasha; 8) No Holds Barred.

The Amboy Dukes finally reach the end of their transmutational career with this record — upon completing it, Nugent officially disbanded the group and embarked on a three-month deer-killing spree, a bloody intermission that formally separates «Ted Nugent & The Amboy Dukes» from «Ted Nugent, Solo Madman». But since Tooth, Fang & Claw is very much just Call Of The Wild Vol. 2, there is a substantial difference, too.

This is the last time Uncle Ted flirts with an itty-bitty bit of artsiness, coming in the form of two consequent in­strumentals: 'Hibernation' and 'Free Flight'. The former is just as long as 'Below The Belt' on the previous album, but much faster and much more relying on speed runs from Ted's fingers, happily bursting out in seemingly endless waves. The latter also runs fast, but is more riff-based, centered around an equally happy, memorable melody. But as loud and energetic as these guitarfests are, they are not at all «heavy», and the sweaty sexual aggression that Ted would start cultivating so hard in just a year is nowhere in sight.

It is much more evident on vocal numbers, such as the opening 'Lady Luck' and the closing 'No Holds Barred'; the former, in particular, is classic Nugent — not one, but several crunchy and evocative riffs, lyrics that leave no doubts about the directions of Uncle Ted's mind, and a heavy as heck, macho as muck atmosphere that, in 1974, Ted was still learning to borrow from his pre­decessors (Steppenwolf, etc.), but of which he would soon become the ultimate priest. Great tune! As recommendable for sissies as 'Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme' is for bodybuilders.

'Lady Luck' and the instrumental rampage are the chief reasons why I believe this record to be almost as satisfactory as Call Of The Wild, but there are other points of interest, including:

— 'The Great White Buffalo', a Nugent classic and one of the very few Amboy Dukes-era sur­vi­vors that made it into his regular set — an environmentalist tune, mind you, blaming the stupid white man for the fate of the buffalo. (Come to think of it, I can understand Uncle Ted's rage at the stupid white man — exterminating all the buffalo before Un­cle Ted got there! Now all Uncle Ted's got left are these puny little deer things). The important thing about the song is not its ly­rics, though, but rather the quirky little riff, built around several loop-like flourishes that Ted bravely reproduces in each bar of the verse melody;

— 'Maybellene': Chuck's prime chestnut is updated here for the 1970s, with everything bigger, louder, faster, and dumber than it used to be, but that's to be expected. The funniest part of it is Ted imploring the drum guy to "Hit me... hit me... hit me!" in the very end, like a junkie screa­ming for a shot, then, once the desired hit finally comes — a relieved "Ah, thank you!". That fun­ny old Mr. Nugent, eh?;

— 'Sasha': a rather mediocre acoustic-folk ballad, but it's a NUGE-APPROVED acoustic-folk ballad, his first one, actually — and it's about his newborn daughter, so cut the caveman some slack for a little sentimental tenderness, something like the first time ever. After all, even loin­cloth-clad primordial hunters could have a weakness for babies.

Strange as it is, I would not say that, at any point during the album, Ted feels like he is tired of his current direction, or feeling under pressure from some atavistic obligation to inject a shot of «art» into whatever it is that he is doing. Tooth, Fang & Claw is not a great hard rock album, but it's fairly solid, so Nugent's final decision to concentrate on one and one thing only in the fu­ture really comes off as a surprise. Believe it or not, there used to be a time when Uncle Ted kept trying different things from time to time — if anything, none of these records sound as cartoonish as whatever followed. Of course, Ted's cartoons are one of a kind, too, but still, there is some­thing about his Amboy Dukes past that brews up a little nostalgia. Thumbs up to commemorate this yearning — oh, and for all the swell guitar runs, too, of course.

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The Beach Boys: All Summer Long

THE BEACH BOYS: ALL SUMMER LONG (1964)

1) I Get Around; 2) All Summer Long; 3) Hushabye; 4) Little Honda; 5) We'll Run Away; 6) Carl's Big Chance; 7) Wendy; 8) Do You Remember?; 9) Girls On The Beach; 10) Drive-In; 11) Our Favorite Recording Sessions; 12) Don't Back Down.

All comparisons between the Beach Boys' All Summer Long and the Beatles' A Hard Day's Night, even if the two sound very little like each other, are still fully justified. Not simply beca­use the two LPs were released on the market literally within days from each other, in July 1964, but also because they represent the two finest pop bands of the early «teenage Sixties» at the ab­solute peaks of their «pre-serious» days. Both records take the «innocent» teen pop song genre — in its Brit-pop and California-pop incarnation, respectively — as high as it could ever be taken. From here on, there are but two directions: (a) conservation and gradual stagnation or (b) self-upgrading to an advanced level. Fortunately for us, both bands took option (b).

In the field of consistency, All Summer Long still loses out to Hard Day's Night, being much further from perfection on a song-by-song basis. For one thing, the issue of explicit filler has not been overcome. There is another piece of useless studio chit-chat, and another equally useless gui­tar instrumental — made to look ever more embarrassing by being given such «honorary» titles as 'Our Favourite Recording Sessions' (just in case you ever had the stupidity to think that the band's favourite recording sessions actually were the ones where they got the recordings right, instead of sounding like a bunch of five-year old goofballs); and 'Carl's Big Chance' (this one in­vites about a million bad jokes, so I'll just leave it up to you).

For another, there is no denying that there is a gradual drop in quality as the record moves along — much of Side B (and let us not forget that the entire album is over in 25 minutes' time) is do­mi­nated by Mike Love, whose lyrical skills seem to become more and more annoying with each new album, so much so that even Brian only sees it fit to put them to inferior re-written melodies. (It remains to be ascertained how much the local drive-in theater owners' union surreptitiously paid Mr. Love for the line "don't sneak your buddies in the trunk 'cause they might get caught by the drive in" — in any case, he'd have to be pretty dumb not to try to cash in on that).

'Do You Remember?', a song twice unnecessary because of the melodically similar, but far su­pe­rior 'Little Honda', becomes thrice unnecessary also due to lyrics that, in an inane manner, try to glorify the early pioneers of rock (let alone the fact that we still don't know what is "the all-time greatest song" that Chuck Berry is supposed to have written — 'Rock'n'Roll Music'? 'Johnny B. Goode'? 'Roll Over Beethoven'? Come on, Mike, you of all people should know that Chuck Ber­ry's all-time greatest song, 'My Ding-A-Ling', had not even been conceived yet. And why are the boys upholding this with harmonies of "diddy-wah diddy-wah"? That's, uh, actually, like a Bo Diddley song, really).

Finally, as beautiful as 'Girls On The Beach' is on its own, there is no denying that it is merely a variation on 'Surfer Girl', with the exact same verse melody getting a different resolution. The fact that Brian, who is very rarely known for plagiarizing himself, still gave it the green light, can only mean that, once again, the potential perfection of All Summer Long was ruined by external circumstances — record company demands, touring, promotion, and Brian's conflict with his fa­ther, which culminated somewhere around that time as the growing artist finally mustered enough courage to fire the parent from his manager position. (Too bad he was never strong enough to try the same stuff on Mike — although in 1964, Mike was still a positive force within the band, and by 1967, when he became its sinking stone, it was too late to chip the stone away).

Still, even today, as you put on the record, and all these classic numbers on the first side swish by, one by one — you can't help being impressed. 'I Get Around', the big hit single and one of the greatest songs of its era, is the record's visiting card, of course. The band's first No. 1 hit on the charts (and, contrary to what we'd all think, the Beach Boys only scored a measly three No. 1's during their good days — the fourth one was 'Kokomo'... nice weather today, isn't it?), and the finest vocal-harmony present to the art of cruising around that there ever was, as all the "round round round round I get around"s interweaved with Brian's gradually rising and falling falsetto really create a head-spinning atmosphere — almost proto-psychedelic in its way.

But all the other highlights lag only slightly behind, by being less concentrated on breaking new ground and more concentrated on pure emotion. The title track is like a joyful sequel to the ro­mantic preview of 'Keep An Eye On Summer'. 'Little Honda', turning from cars to bikes now, puts on lots of echo and overdubbing — maybe its basic melody is not that far removed from '409' or 'Shut Down', but now Brian has this whole thing quasi-symphonized, and suddenly even Mike's lead vocal sounds heroic/anthemic instead of simply coming across as a teenage wimpy nasal whine. 'Hushabye' features the most complex vocal harmonies on the album and is, in some ways, a fine preview of the many vocal wonders the band would give us in the 1966-71 period.

And then there's the fabulous opening bars of 'Wendy' — let's face it, for the first ten seconds, what with the gruff, ominous bass notes and the lonely, intriguing drum fill we do not even know what the heck we are listening to. Is it going to be a surf instrumental? An attempt at blues-pop? A Gregorian chant? Then the vocal harmonies kick in, but the mist never clears com­pletely, as the song balances between a generally fun atmosphere and grief-stricken lyrics (and a pretty mo­rose organ solo).

Finally, a brief plugin needs to be inserted for 'We'll Run Away', with proverbially naïve lyrics from Gary Usher — but leave it up to Brian to take all these Romeo-and-Juliet clichés and make them utterly believable through an incredibly gorgeous vocal delivery. Just the right tone, just the right modulation, just the right notes. So right, in fact, you can almost picture Mr. Wilson finish­ing the recording, taking off his headphones, leaving the studio, picking up the 15- or 16-year-old love of his life, eloping to the airport, and spending the rest of his life in total and utter happiness on a quiet, remote dairy farm somewhere in North Dakota. Who cares if he eventually wound up as a disillusioned, overweight, thoroughly unhappy nervous wreck? Actually, the song did reflect reality at the time — Brian would marry the 17-year old Marilyn Rutherford in December that same year, and they even managed to have a fifteen-year long family relationship, quite a long stretch for a rock star, by any accounts. So — fluffy idealism or gritty autobiography?

Overall, for a non-completist it would make terrific sense to combine the strong parts of All Sum­mer Long with the bunch of classic numbers on Shut Down Vol. 2 — my dream album for the Beach Boys circa the first half of 1964 would look something like this: Side A: 1) I Get Around; 2) All Summer Long; 3) Hushabye; 4) Little Honda; 5) Don't Worry Baby; 6) Keep An Eye On Sum­mer; Side B: 7) Fun, Fun, Fun; 8) Why Do Fools Fall In Love; 9) The Warmth Of The Sun; 10) We'll Run Away; 11) Don't Back Down; 12) Wendy. This sort of record would, IMHO, be capable of knocking the ground even from under Hard Day's Night's feet. As it is, just thank the inane people at Capitol records for being in the secret pay of Brian Epstein. Nevertheless, even with all the filler and haste, All Summer Long is as vertical a thumbs up as they come.

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Big Mama Thornton: Jail

BIG MAMA THORNTON: JAIL (1975)

1) Little Red Rooster; 2) Ball 'n' Chain; 3) Jail; 4) Hound Dog; 5) Rock Me Baby; 6) Sheriff O. E. & Me; 7) Oh Hap­py Day.

Information on Big Mama's whereabouts during the first half of the 1970s is sketchy at best. There seems to have been at least one album of gospel tunes (Saved, dated in different sources to either 1971 and 1973; all I know for sure is that the release was on Pentagram Records, and yes, she does cover 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot', so do not expect huge massive surprises), and there may have been occasional guest appearances here and there.

But the «essential Big Mama» truly resurfaces only in five years time, and with another live al­bum — and a classic one. Released on Vanguard, Jail is culled from two different performances at Monroe State Prison in Monroe, Washington and Oregon State Reformatory in Eugene, Ore­gon (I am, of course, listing this detailed information just in case you ever turn up there and get a chance to chat with an eighty-year old inmate). And even if one could say that Big Mama was merely following a trend here, already well established by Johnny Cash and B. B. King and oth­ers, who's to deny that Willie Mae, with her brusque and rowdy ways, wouldn't be the perfect rhythm & blues advertiser in that kind of environment?

The emphasis here is not merely on giving the people a good time, but, as it is with the best of prison albums, on giving them a realistically good time. Two of the songs — the slow blues of the title track and the happy shuffle of 'Sheriff O. E. & Me' — relate directly to prison time issues, and then there's 'Ball 'n' Chain', whose title, in a setting like this, would be very easy to take lite­rally. 'Jail' is, of course, the album's centerpiece, with the darkest guitar solos and the grinniest grin on Mama's face, no doubt, as she introduces herself: "Well, here I am again — sitting down in this old rotten jail..." much to the inmates' delirious delight.

The album's got minor surprises — 'Little Red Rooster', for instance, is not what you'd think, but rather an entirely different, much faster boogie number, quite a kickass opener; 'Hound Dog' is probably the second best, maybe even the first best rendition in Mama's catalog, with a chuggy, funky rhythm guitar part supplanting the original accompaniment; and 'Oh, Happy Day' (which, I believe, was also recorded for the Saved album) is a rare occasion to hear Willie Mae sing gospel pop — in a reasonably restrained and fun way, with the band heartedly accelerating towards the end (too bad the record fades out for some reason).

For the record, the band includes George "Harmonica" Smith on Turkish komuz (nah, just joking), J. D. Nichols on piano, Bill Potter dominating much of the overall sound on tenor sax, and the trusty Eddie Huston on stinging guitar, augmented by Steve Wachsman on second guitar (maybe it's Steve who plays the cool funky part on 'Hound Dog', I don't really know). The album itself is generally available these days on the 3-CD long Complete Vanguard Recordings collection, a very welcome addition to your collection if you dig «Americana» at all. We'll get around to the rest of it soon enough; in the meantime — thumbs up, no questions asked.