The result being, he can’t. As such, Head Full of Snow will return in the Autumn with a promise of more of the same nonsense, plus a thoroughly good seeing to of that previously mentioned pile of Esoteric releases.

In the meantime, my fairweather friends, if you crave a HFoS fix, you could do worse than check out the latest Record Collector magazine (issue 404, August 2012), with my article on Brummie could’ve beens, psychedelic practitioners and stepping stones for Jeff Lynne, The Idle Race.

As we all know, there was much more to them than Jeff Lynne, so why not pitch a quid in and have a gander for yourself.

In the meantime, I shall leave you with one of the Idle Race’s finest post-Lynne songs, ‘Dancing Flower’. Until the autumn, my friends. Bless thee one and all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNvbZIMjFpo

All three of the Idle Race albums are collected in one handy volume, Back to the Story, available from Amazon.co.uk

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Largely forgotten since their heyday, Decameron – name derived from the Boccaccio writings, not the shiny-foreheaded git currently residing at 10 Downing Street – were a Cheltenham-formed folk rock combo that released four albums during the 1970s and were, for a while, managed by none other than Jasper Carrott.

Their debut album, Say Hello to the Band, was originally released in 1973 and is an enjoyable, if mostly unremarkable slice of folk rock, fashioned in very much the same vein as HFoS favourites, Lindisfarne.

Nestled among the nine tracks (plus the bonus B-side, ‘Friday Night at the Regal’) are two rare gems that raise Say Hello to the Band’s bar considerably. ‘Innocent Sylvester Prime’ is a gentle and sweet-natured little offering that weaves a disarmingly hypnotic spell upon the listener and puts one in mind of Dragonfly era Strawbs.

‘Byard’s Leap’ is the other cherry topping this rather agreeable cake, echoing a more trad folk/rock mash-up vibe, as practised by the post Liege & Lief Fairport Convention. Its tale of a witch – standard folk music trope – and the “blind and decrepid” horse that brings about her demise, is undoubtedly the dulcimer-imbued highlight.

The dual vocals of Dave Bell and Johnny Coppin offer a rich Prior/Hart dynamic to Decameron’s music, one which continues with:

Released in 1974, Mammoth Special was Decameron’s follow up to Say Hello to the Band and saw the four-piece add another member, while pursuing a more progressive sound.

The title track sets the tone for this evolution, providing for a beefier, more dynamic outing than before, although the harmonising prevalent on the first album, reminiscent of American artists such as CSN and The Byrds, remains largely intact and even allows for an (almost) a cappella cover of Buffalo Springfield’s ‘Rock and Roll Woman’.

The baroque-tinged ‘Jan’ is a fine folky throwback, which, along with melodically haunting ‘The Stonehouse’ and the previously mentioned title track, is an album highlight. The infectiously quirky bonus track ‘Twinset and Pearls’ rounds Mammoth Special off nicely.

Both albums are reissued by Esoteric Recordings and include the two bonus tracks and extensive liner notes.

Say Hello To The Band and Mammoth Special are both available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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I suggest somebody pulls their finger out and gets a proverbial wriggle on… That would be me then.

Just to let you know, HFoS hasn’t died, nor the bloke what does the writing. It will, in fact, return shortly. Largely because this backlog of Esoteric reissues in need of review, isn’t getting any smaller.

Reasons for maintaining radio silence the past few weeks? I would like to say I’ve been busy revamping the site, as has been my threat for the past couple of years. Sadly though, that would be a lie.

I have, in fact, been extremely busy with other projects. I could say more, but I won’t. Instead, cop an earful of the ever-excellent Steeleye Span and ‘Female Drummer’, taken from the 1971′s Please to See the King.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xz93oGirS4k

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Taking their name from the French for Soft Machine (Machine Molle), the band recorded two albums, both released in 1972, before Wyatt’s plummet from a fourth floor window put an end to his rock drumming career, as well as Matching Mole.

Sporting a magnificent cover, whose inspiration lies in the artwork of the Cultural Revolution, Little Red Record was the second of these albums and what a little smasher it is.

Everything is right about this package, from the aforementioned cover to the band line-up, through to the compositions and luxuriant instances of Fender Rhodes electric piano. As the late Billy Dainty once said, you can never have too much Fender Rhodes.

Matching Mole consisted – in order of beard length, as the liners proudly state – of Nucleus’s Dave MacRae on keyboards (replacing Caravan and future Hatfield and the North noodler, Dave Sinclair); the aforementioned Robert Wyatt on drums and gob; Phil Miller on guitars (who would have associations with all manner of Canterbury-based bands); and Quiet Sun’s Bill MacCormick on bass. A formidable assembly of hairy prog/jazz fusion stalwarts, who put Little Red Record in fine stead to deliver the proverbial goods.

Also along for the ride was ambient pioneer and Rocky Horror Riff-Raff impersonator, Brian Eno, who employs his VCS3 synthesizer on the lengthy and atmospheric soundscape piece ‘Gloria Gloom’. This particular track also sees Wyatt nailing his political colours to the mast, ones which, in keeping with the theme of the album and its cover, are a commendable shade of red.

Elsewhere, a certain Julie Christie, trading under the alias of Ruby Crystal, provides background “voice parts”, most notably on the mildly fruity ‘Nan True’s Hole’, which takes its name from the house John Peel would rechristen ‘Peel Acres’, while providing an eye-opening education for the song’s timorous forty-year-old virgin.

The slightly sinister, fuzzed through soundtrack that ‘Nan True’s Hole’ plays out to, makes up part of a continuous and seamlessly blended piece that forms the first half of the album. As with most of Wyatt’s output of the time, Little Red Record is crafted along experimental lines; thankfully, it never once falls foul of the unlistenable quagmires of pretentiousness that other avant-gardians of the era were sometimes known to stray into.

What we get for our two bob is a mixture of instrumental and vocal tracks upon which Robert Wyatt’s distinctive voice rings hither, drifting in and out of the mix like a detuned radio. The musicianship is, as you might expect considering the calibre of artists involved, to the highest standard, with Dave MacRae effortlessly stepping into the shoes of his ubiquitous predecessor. He provides some particularly shimmering and resonant Fender Rhodes infusion along the way, augmenting the fact that this almost mystical electric piano is America’s greatest gift to the world.

At times exhilarating, others dramatic, and more often than not simply exquisite, Little Red Album is an engaging feast of opulence upon an elegant platter of sublime. Despite Robert Wyatt taking a backseat with the songwriting (Dave MacCrae providing the majority of material) this is perhaps the album Soft Machine would’ve made, had they continued along the path of their first two albums.

And if, after all that, you’re still not convinced, did I mention it was produced by Crimson’s Robert Fripp? Surely that should seal the deal.

Little Red Album by Matching Mole has just been reissued in a 2-disc expanded format, featuring a veritable hoolie’s worth of bonus material, including live recordings and session tracks.

If the fancy’s well and truly tickled, Little Red Album is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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The rough ‘n’ ready combo, often derided for their Rent-a-Geordie posturing, may have been past their creative prime by the time Magic in the Air - a live recording of the culminating event in a short run of Christmas concerts – was released, but the fact remains that their first three albums, Nicely Out of Tune, Fog on the Tyne and Dingly Dell, were compelling and enjoyable slices of hairier-than-thou folk rock.

Thankfully, on Magic in the Air – which brings the original line-up back together – the band knows which side their musical bread is buttered and draws all but one of its songs from those first three albums, resulting in a crowd-pleasing set that returns them to their early 70s heyday.

Forever associated with the tongue-twisting, folk-lite sing-along daftness that is ‘Fog on the Tyne’, there was always much more to Lindisfarne than met the eye. Scratch beneath the surface and one would find a socially conscious band, whose lead singer enjoyed a firm grounding in left-wing politics.

Okay, musically-wise we’re not talking Ewan MacColl here, but songs such as ‘We Can Swing Together’, ‘All Fall Down’, ‘Court in the Act’ and ‘Winter Song’, all touch upon politically-charged topics that acknowledge singer-songwriter Alan Hull’s roots and his years as a Labour Party activist.

Rousing versions of these four songs are included on Magic in the Air, which, at 80 minutes, provides a great window onto the Lindesfarne oeuvre. The band, despite the turbulent waters that passed beneath their bridge over the years, is in fine form throughout, sounding as though they’d never been away and evidently enjoying themselves as much as the Christmas Eve crowd of lads and lasses.

Kicking off with a splendid rendition of ‘Lady Eleanor’ and finishing with the mystical ‘Clear White Light’, Lindisfarne put on a show that, if you’re a fan, is somewhat essential, throwing in the folk jig of ‘Scotch Mist’, as well as digressing into Geordie standard ‘Blaydon Races’, ‘Scotland the Brave’ and the Z Cars theme during ‘We Can Swing Together’, courtesy of Ray Jackson’s enthusiastic harmonica. Of course, ‘Fog on the Tyne’ makes an appearance, but that’s no bad thing – it’s Christmas Eve, after all, and there’s every chance the audience wouldn’t have gone home until they’d heard it.

Altogether, Magic in the Air is a thoroughly enjoyable reissue from a band whose memory is often tainted by one incredibly popular, but unrepresentative song, and an ill-judged 1980′s collaboration with a footballing simpleton.

If you’ve never given Lindisfarne a chance to entertain you, here’s as good a place to start as any. To quote diminutive toupee-bearer Paul Daniels, “It’s Magic!”

Ha’way ya bugger, man!

Magic in the Air by Lindisfarne is reissued by Esoteric and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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In the meantime, here’s three more quality prog/folk/psych-related blogs, you may wish to check out:

Sid Smith’s Postcards From the Yellow Room

Dutch Progressive Rock Pages

Trip Inside This House

Now, if you’d visited HFoS a year or so back, you would’ve found a place of seething hostility, so far as the the jazz-rock was concerned. It was a musical pariah, persecuted by the very same pen that writes these words now. A lot can happen in a year though, and whereas at one time, anything hitting the HFoS Towers’ doormat intent on jazz-fusion would’ve received short shrift and a thorough kicking on the car park, nowadays the sinewy grooves of bands such as Soft Machine, Mahavishnu Orchestra and the aforementioned Isotope have been welcomed into our collective bosom, nurtured and – dare I say it – thoroughly enjoyed.

The Dancer fits into this newfound appreciation of all things fusion, somewhat perfectly.

With the help of an assorted band of musicians, including Zoe Kronberger, who also appeared on the final Isotope album, Deep End, Gary Boyle delivers a sultry collection of sounds that, as Sid Smith notes in the accompanying booklet, could easily be a continuation of that record. Nice!

There’s a sense of urgency driving much of this album, whether in the nifty finger-work of Boyle, or the often frenetic, funk-fuelled basslines that bounce around the album like Smartie-dosed five year olds. There’s also some wonderful keyboard work, courtesy, in the main, of the aforementioned Kronberger, but with contributions also from ex-Zombie, Rod Argent; Brand X’s Robin Lumley and Nucleus’s Dave Macrae.

This ivory tinkling adds a richer dimension and lends a progressive feel throughout, with Mini Moogs, String Synthesisers, Clavinets and the wondrous electric piano (surely a Rhodes), being employed as liberally as Tory legislation to kill off the poor. The Fender Rhodes (if it truly be one of these ambrosial beasts – and it certainly sounds like one) gets a fine old workout on ‘Apple Crumble’, proving that this tasty wee treat is not only one of the kings of puddingdom, but also a delectable diversion in the jazz-rock canon.

And it’s not all finger-searing exigency on the The Dancer, with laidback, mood-pieces such as ‘Now That We’re Alone’ and ‘Pendle Mist’ lending a cinematic comedown, which allows for the painting of some exquisite textures, in contrast to tighter grooves fired off elsewhere.

Electric Glide, Boyle’s 1978 follow up to The Dancer also brings in an assortment of musicians to provide the canvas upon which the ex-Isotope man lays his assorted licks. Among these is Thin Lizzy and (at the time) Colosseum II guitarist, Gary Moore, whose contributions on two of the eight tracks provides a fiery exception to what is, otherwise, a weaker album than its predecessor.

Even so, this doesn’t write it off as a bad thing. Despite the minimal use of keyboards (provided on two tracks by blind jazz pianist, Pete Jacobson), there’s still the occasional pleasing groove for the world-weary to enjoy. Indeed, without the encumbrance of ancillary prog noodling, Boyle’s prowess with his weapon of choice is really allowed to shine through.

As such, Electric Glide follows a different path to both The Dancer and previous Isotope albums, in that it’s a more clinical exercise; stripped down and laid bare, possibly intended to pull in a larger audience than the British prog/jazz rock circles could provide. Nevertheless, the technique and many-fingered chord progressions should prove enough to satisfy those appreciative of Gary Boyle’s rightly deserved reverence in the fusion hierarchy.

The Dancer and Electric Glide by Gary Boyle are both reissued on January 30^th and available for pre-order from Amazon.co.uk

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So first up for 2012 and, incidentally, the 300^th post on Head Full of Snow, are these soon to be released Terry Riley reissues from Esoteric.

Not to be mistaken with sugar-coated R&B producer Teddy Ruxpin, the albums In C and A Rainbow in Curved Air, are the fruits of the American composer, who, while sporting a Mick Miller haircut, championed, influenced and became a fundamental part of the – then burgeoning – minimalist music scene. Think of a bunch of Beatniks sat around in a New York basement, smoking the contents of a herbal teabag and trying to get a tune out of a chair leg. That’s (possibly) how this movement started.

In C is a 1967 recording of a piece first written in 1964, featuring the composer himself and members of New York State University’s Center of the Creative and Performing Arts, with an array of classical instruments at their disposal. There’s no tune as such, as this is more an avant-garde exercise in musical endurance.

Seemingly repetitive upon first listen, further exploration of In C reveals it to be a gently shifting piece that subtly instils a sense of contentment in the listener; such is the belief after ten minutes that nothing’s going to change. Sit through the whole 42 minutes and you may feel you’ve been drawn into a hypnotic trance, occasionally punctuated by the desolate notes of wind and brass instruments, which, to these ears, sound as though they’re in the midst of a pre-concert tune up. But then, I doubt whether In C was ever intended for a philistine such as myself.

A Rainbow in Curved Air, first released in 1969, is an infinitely more accessible record. Containing two tracks, the first from which the title is taken and ‘Poppy Nogood and the Phantom Band’; the album sees Riley playing all the instruments, chiefly the electric organ, harpsichord and a Rock-Si-Chord.

The title track is a wonderful exercise in keyboard ambience, with noodling aplenty, layered atop a steadily undulating underscore, marking it out as a precursor to what Tangerine Dream would later build a career upon.

In fact, A Rainbow in Curved Air would prove to be a guiding light for many of the era’s progressive musicians, with the likes of Mike Oldfield, Brian Eno, Pete Townshend and many more citing it as a direct influence upon their work. The band, Curved Air, even went so far as to take their name from it. High praise, indeed! Shades of both tracks are also apparent in the Soft Machine sound of the 1970s.

Whereas both albums could be described as “challenging”, they remain essential documents of an incipient stage in the birth of the progressive rock genre. In C may not garner as favourable a verdict from me as A Rainbow in Curved Air, but both will have an audience, particularly among the David Bedford and John Cage set.

In C and A Rainbow in Curved Air are both reissued on January 30^th and available to pre-order from Amazon.co.uk

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King Crimson react to the news HFoS survived another Christmas

This year I’ve resolved to beat the post-seasonal hangover by remaining drunk, which, thus far, has proved to be an agreeable tactic… Pay no heed if my eyes glaze over or I lose my train of thought mid

As is customary this time of year, I will be making one or two rash promises, none of which I have any intention of adhering to. So we might as well get those out of the way first.

2012 will see a new look website and a raft of new features, as well as the return of some old ones.

There, pretty much the same as last year, minus the enthusiasm.

Anyhoop, as Head Full of Snow enters its fourth year (with the official third birthday at the start of next month), I can promise more of the same, with reviews of prog, psych, folk and – yes – even jazz rock, from the days of yore, to look forward to.

This, of course, is dependent on whether you have anything better in life to aspire to, outside the semi-coherent ramblings of a drunk man, suffering delusions of grandeur. If not, sit down and make yourself at home.

There will also be some more of the only new feature to rear its hackneyed head last year; the HFoS Mixtape. Never fear, I will keep flogging that dead horse until somebody admits listening to one all the way through.

Aside from such joviality, I’ll continue posting as regularly as time will allow, beginning next week with… Oh, I’ve not decided yet. Until then, share in my addiction:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_g-gTcohSQ

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This year, I’ll dispense with anything that could be held against me at a later date and, instead, leave you with the latest mixtape: The HFoS Prog Rock Xmas Stocking Filler.

Granted, it’s not particularly festive, nor exclusively prog-orientated, but it’s the best you’ll get from me this side of 2012.

There’s a few Christmassy tracks and titles on there; some wintery stuff; Keith Christmas, for obvious reasons; and one or two wildcards such as David McWilliams and Van der Graaf Generator, chucked in just for the hell of it.

So all it remains for me to say is Merry Christmas and HFoS will be back some time in the new year (when we’ll be three) with more of the same.

Hit the play button for a mildly festive feast. (Track list below)

[See post to listen to audio]

^{Jethro Tull – Christmas Song [Excerpt of outro] (from This Was)}

^{The Who – Christmas (from Tommy)}

^{Tomorrow – Hallucinations (from Tomorrow)}

^{Procol Harum – A Christmas Camel (from Procol Harum)}

^{David McWilliams – Lord Offaly (from Lord Offaly)}

^{Keith Christmas – Foothills (from Brighter Day)}

^{Camel – Air Born (from Moonmadness)}

^{Andrew Bown – Tarot (The Ace of Wands)}

^{Lindisfarne – Winter Song (from Nicely Out of Tune)}

^{Gentle Giant – Pantagruel’s Nativity (from Acquiring the Taste)}

^{Cressida – Winter is Coming Again (from Cressida)}

^{Mountain – Nantucket Sleighride (To Owen Coffin) (from Nantucket Sleighride)}

^{The Idle Race – I Like My Toys (from The Birthday Party)}

^{ELO – Whisper in the Night (from The Electric Light Orchestra)}

^{Jethro Tull – Christmas Song (from This Was)}

^{Wizzard – Rock ‘n’ Roll Winter (from Introducing Eddy and the Falcons)}

^{Greg Lake – I Believe in Father Christmas}

^{Van der Graaf Generator – Theme One (from Pawn Hearts)}

^{Jethro Tull – Ring Out, Solstice Bells (from Songs From the Wood)}

^{Wizzard – I Wish it Could Be Christmas Everyday [Excerpt of outro] (from Wizzard Brew)}

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So what festive fare have I picked randomly from the ether for you spend your Our Price vouchers on this year? Read on, my fine fellows and fellowettes:

Rick Wakeman – Journey to the Centre of the Earth

As it’s Christmas, something supremely daft is in order and they don’t come much dafter than this live recording. A man in a cape, with enough electric pianos, organs, Moogs, Mellotrons and what-have-yous to cause an energy crisis on a small Mediterranean island. The London Symphony Orchestra. The English Chamber Choir. Narration from the preposterously eyebrowed David Hemmings (following Billy Dainty’s scheduling conflict). An audience anticipating something with the subtlety of a broken bottle to the throat… What the deuce were they all thinking?

Thankfully, it’s 1974 and this type of thing was pretty much the norm in progressive rock circles. It is also quite the delightful listen, resplendent in its scope and sheer audacity, with grumpy old Rick in fine noodling form, employing the full range of his synthesised arsenal to create a weird and alien soundscape through which Jules Verne’s 19th century tale is interpreted. With Will Malone also on hand to provide the arrangements, Journey to the Centre of the Earth is a fine, if deranged, melding of the rock and classical genres, relayed via the caped wonder’s extensive modular banks.

Journey to the Centre of the Earth, by Rick Wakeman, is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

Fat Mattress

Formed by Jimi Hendrix Experience bassist, Noel Redding, Fat Mattress’s self-titled 1969 debut is a refreshing cocktail of psychedelic rock and proto-prog, with generous lashings of folk and bluesy elements for good measure. Undoubted highlights of this thoroughly invigorating mix are the darkly baleful and Traffic-esque ‘Mr Moonshine’, the gentle, trippy psych of ‘Walking Through a Garden’ and the soaring ‘How Can I live’, but with neither hide nor hair of a duffer among the original tracks (with 11 further bonuses on the anthology edition), this musical gateway to a mind-altered reality is an essential addition to any Santa’s wishlist.

Fat Mattress, by Fat Mattress, is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

The End – Introspection

Included for no other reason than I wrote a feature about The End for Record Collector magazine earlier this year, 1969′s Introspection is a mellifluous collection of psychedelic pop, produced by no other than young William Wyman of popular beat combo, The Rolling Stones fame. Drifting harmonies and a fine line in organ textures, courtesy of sometime Spider From Mars and future record producer, Nicky Graham, provide an otherworldly ambience to tracks such as ‘Dreamworld’, ‘Under the Rainbow’, ‘Shades of Orange’ and ‘Loving, Sacred Loving’. They also add their own unique touch to Larry Williams’ ‘She Said Yeah’, the earlier Stones cover of which is featured on that irritating Bleu de Chanel advert. A full review of Introspection can be found here.

Introspection, by The End, is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

The Idle Race – Time Is

Recorded and released in 1971, following Jeff Lynne’s defection to The Move, The Idle Race’s third and final album is often overlooked in the grand scheme of things, overshadowed by the previous offerings featuring their soon-to-be world famous, former frontman. True, it lacks the endearing whimsy of Lynne’s toytown-flavoured songs, but there’s still a good deal of mileage to be had from The Idle Race’s new folk/progressive rock direction. The folk flavourings are particularly strong, with the pastoral opener ‘Dancing Flower’, ‘I Will See You’, ‘She Sang Hymns Out of Tune’ and a cover of Gordon Lightfoot’s ‘Bitter Green’, all making Time Is the perfect accompaniment to slip into a drunken, late-night Christmas Day reverie.

Time Is, by the Idle Race, is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

Home – The Alchemist

And Christmas would not be Christmas without a spot of the fantastic, ably provided by Home’s epic 1973 concept album, The Alchemist. A tragic tale of schoolboys, wizards, imminent disaster and a Cornish fishing village makes this a narrative worthy of hungover Boxing Day morning TV, effectively set to some thumpingly good music. Previous albums from Home had enjoyed a guitar-based, more hard/country rock vibe, but in the case of The Alchemist, the four-piece roped in a keyboardist – Jimmy Anderson – and with a range of Mellotron, organ and synth arrangements complimenting the tracks, set forth along the prog rock route. The result is an admirably restrained and a sobering reminder that not all the progressive scene was about excess and grandiose statements. Sometimes the musicianship could be understated, allowing the story to shine through.

The Alchemist, by Home, is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

And there you have it, the 2011 Christmas selection pack. There should be a special Santa’s stocking prog mixtape on the way in the next few days, so I’ll refrain from wishing you a merry Christmas and making new year promises I won’t hold to, until then.

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One such purveyor of proto-prog goodness was keyboardist and singer, Norman Haines, who fronted Birmingham band Locomotive – which, following his departure, became The Dog That Bit People – and went on to form The Norman Haines Band. As was often the case with bands from my hometown (for every Move or Traffic, there’s twenty Worlds of Oz) none of these incarnations found the success they sought and were pretty much forgotten to the purple haze of time. Good news for rare vinyl collectors, bad news for the rest of us.

Fortunately, Esoteric has completed the harvesting of these three lost gems, with the recent reissue of the Haines Band’s Den of Iniquity. First up though, is Locomotive’s 1970 album, We Are Everything You See.

An orchestral overture starts things off, leading into the magnificently sinister slice of post-psychedelic, organ-laced reverie that is ‘Mr. Armageddon’. This song, along with the garish, yet vaguely disquieting cover artwork, sets the tone for the rest of the album; a doom-laden, brown acid trip of a record, riddled with a pessimism that crushes underfoot the fading dreams of any flower child, whose head was still lodged in 1967.

This apocalyptic vision is reflected in titles such as ‘Now is the End – The End is When’, ‘Lay Me Down Gently’, ‘You Must Be Joking’ and ‘Time of Light and Darkness’, and puts one in mind of early Van der Graaf Generator. In fact, the comparisons with that infinitely more successful band are begging to be made. Whether it’s the heavy incorporation of horns, the nihilistic lyrics, or Haines’s sneering vocal timbre, which bears an uncanny similarity to that of Peter Hammill; Locomotive were ploughing a kindred furrow, albeit a short-lived one.

We Are Everything You See was completed mid-1969, but remained unreleased until 1970, by which time Haines had buggered off. The remaining two members of Locomotive, Mick Hincks and Bob Lamb, recruited a replacement keyboardist, Keith Millar, and for the first time a guitarist, John Caswell. Following a final single under the Locomotive moniker – ‘Roll Over Mary’, included among a feast of bonus tracks on the Esoteric reissue – they promptly changed their name to The Dog That Bit People and released an eponymous one off for Parlophone in 1971.

Maybe the combination of a terrible name and mind-boggling album cover conspired to ensure The Dog That Bit People remained unappreciated by a record-buying public at large. Certainly, they’d done themselves no favours on either count. A bit of a shame really, as this is not the musical nail a photograph of some old dear perched in a cluttered front room, might suggest.

The departure of Norman Haines left the band without its chief composer and it was the two newcomers who would take on the primary songwriting duties. As such, the progressive rock elements are stripped right back, resulting in a more traditional album that takes its cue, a little disappointingly, from the Californian rock scene of the time, drawing upon aspects of American folk and country rock along the way. Bloody Brummies, eh?

Nevertheless, there are still some fine moments on The Dog That Bit People, such as the Zeppish hard rock workouts of ‘The Monkey and the Sailor’ and ‘Red Queen’s Dance’ , and the very-definitely prog ‘Reptile Man’. The latter is a thrilling blend of distorted vocals, crunching guitars and thumping drums, and easily the best thing on here. Featured on the HFoS Prog Rock Halloween Mixtape (give the terrifying bastard a listen, what’s the worst that could happen?), it includes the lines “Scaly scary yellow teeth with hair down to his toes, Creeping through the slime it’s Reptile Man, They say he comes from Bilston but no one really knows…”, which, as anybody who’s ever been to Bilston will agree, sounds a pretty accurate assumption.

While The Dog That Bit People failed to set the world alight, Norman Haines had been hard at work on his own follow up to We Are Everything You See. With a new band in tow, Den of Iniquity was also released in 1971 on the Parlophone label.

The Norman Haines Band cooks up a heady brew of prog, delicately seasoned by a fine infusion of blues and folk. It is the best of the three albums, tipping its hat to the UK underground scene and the players in that particular arena of hairy, field-based antics, such as Clark Hutchinson, Skin Alley and the Edgar Broughton Band.

None moreso than on the extended (mostly) instrumental excursion that is ‘Rabbits’; 13 minutes of Hammond organ-steeped potency that wouldn’t have sounded out of place blasting from the back of a flatbed truck, somewhere along the perimeter fence at 1970′s Isle of Wight Festival.

The more than welcome misanthropy of Locomotive’s ‘Mr. Armageddon’ makes another appearance, this time titled ‘Everything You See’ and given an extra dimension by the addition of Neil Clarke’s lead guitar. But even without this remake, Den of Iniquity is a highly recommended listen, without the hindrance of filler or duff tracks that sometimes rear an ugly head upon the aforementioned albums.

With an excellent selection of bonus tracks, to boot, Den of Iniquity is the complete package and the one to go for if the budget can’t stretch to all three.

We Are Everything You See by Locomotive, the self-titled The Dog That Bit People, and Den Of Iniquity by The Norman Haines Band are all available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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If it’s subtlety you’re after, look elsewhere.

But then, nobody’s ever going to arrive at a mid-seventies album from the lead singer of Yes, expecting restraint and delicately nuanced, musical refinement. Nor would you want such a thing. It’s 1976. It’s Jon Anderson. It’s out-bloody-rageous!

Not outrageously good, nor, thankfully, outrageously bad. Olias of Sunhillow is just… outrageous. It’s also rather enjoyable, so long as the dosage is prescribed with a generous pinch of salt. Indeed, one might think that this album is a carefully constructed piss-take of the progressive rock genre. But it’s not. It’s 1976. It’s Jon Anderson. The man largely responsible for 1973′s Tales from Topographic Oceans, which is as daft as it is dull.

The sincerity of the high-pitched, musical polymath is never in question, you’ll be glad to hear, and the scope of Olias of Sunhillow is pretty much in keeping with Topographic Oceans, yet considerably more listenable… which, to be honest, isn’t quite the compliment it may initially seem.

Taking its concept from the Roger Dean artwork to Yes’s excellent 1972 album, Fragile, Jon Anderson tells the tale of the flight from a devastated alien world by Olias and the four tribes of Sunhillow, courtesy of the airborne galleon that he has built. A sort of Moorcockian Noah and the Ark, without the animals. There’s a lot of story crammed into its 44 minute running time, with a disparate cast of characters providing the focus on different songs.

Cinematic in vision, this is the musical equivalent of James Cameron’s Avatar, resplendent in all its unbridled gaudiness. That film demonstrated a complete lack of both self-awareness and control through its relentless tide of visual chintz, Olias of Sunhillow follows a similar path via the medium of music.

Tribal rhythms throw elements of world music into this particular prog pot, along with a decidely luscious array of keyboard textures that are often provided by Anderson himself, in addition to guitars, harp and assorted percussion. As I said, a musical polymath. The trademark double-tracked vocals feature, ensuring his unique voice ties in with what a man expects from Yes, and, indeed, this sounds very much like an early-70s Yes album, right down to the fact that it would be derided by humourless wankers as the antithesis of what music should be. It’s not perfect and it’s probably not suited to anybody who takes Paul Morley’s word as gospel, but it’s the kind of album a man can put on when he’s in need of a fix of lush, unapologetic pomp and grandeur, manifested in a package that refuses to entertain the idea of minimalist snobbery.

Plus, the fact that this is not Jon Anderson’s 1988 Album, In the City of Angels, is surely a recommendation in itself.

Out-bloody-rageous!

Olias of Sunhillow by Jon Anderson is available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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Formed to tour the 1974 album Out of the Storm, the Jack Bruce Band dig a little deeper for this particular show, incorporating, not only, that record, but also material from Song for a Tailor, Harmony Row and Cream’s Disraeli Gears.

Featuring jazz keyboardist Carla Bley; journeyman keyboardist Ronnie Leahy; late drummer with The Knack, Bruce Gary; and a post-Rolling Stones Mick Taylor, the Jack Bruce Band was a formidable assembly of musical talent, spearheaded by one of most respected bassists of the 60s and 70s. And the calibre of musicianship on display is more than evident throughout this superior live document of a troupe whose musical alignment was all too brief.

Kicking off with ‘Can You Follow?’, a faithful rendition of Harmony Row’s intro, featuring Bruce alone with his piano, the rest of the band spring to life as we hit the second track from that album; an extended version of the powerful ‘Morning Story’, featuring some wonderful Mellotron textures, courtesy of Carla Bley.

The Jack Bruce Band remains tight throughout, retaining the studio sound, while using it as a springboard from which to launch into more expressive, often improvisational, territory. Only their version of ‘Pieces of Mind’ comes close to matching the running length of the album original. For instance, a mash-up of Song for a Tailor’s ‘Tickets to Waterfalls’, the excellent ‘Weird of Hermiston’ and Harmony Row’s ‘Post War’ weighs in at a hefty 24 minutes, with plenty of enthusiastic noodling along the way.

As this is a two disc affair, the second part continues in a similar vein, with lengthy workouts of the wonderful ‘One’, ‘You Burned the Tables on Me’, ‘Smiles and Grins’, and for the aging hippies in the audience, Cream’s ‘Sunshine of Your Love’; the latter clocking in at Clapton-free 12 minutes.

Mick Taylor is on fine form throughout, providing the same no-nonsense reliability he brought to The Stones, and Jack Bruce is… well, Jack Bruce. Confident on both vocals and bass, you know pretty much what you’re getting with a 70s-era Brucie bonus and he lives up to those expectations.

Deserved of special mention are keyboard players Carla Bley and Ronnie Leahy, whose threadwork of organ, synths and electric piano weaves a mesmerising tapestry of illuminated sound from start to finish. The only criticism of the entire album would be that these two are occasionally quite low down in the mix… but hey, that’s personal preference for you.

Live ’75 is an excellent set, nicely remastered and up there with the likes of Bursting Out, Yessongs and Alive and Well, so far as live prog packages go.

Live ’75 by the Jack Bruce Band is out now and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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Now this isn’t, as you would be forgiven for thinking, a concept piece based around the character of Albert “Cheerful Charlie” Chisholm, malodorous Detective Sergeant and bane of Arthur Daley’s life. The title, in fact, is an arcane reference to the home of some “spiritual guru” type, with whom Brown was involved at the time of recording. As was the done thing in the 1970s.

While the UK music scene was being rent asunder by the amphetamine-fuelled fury of a legion of bronchial ‘erberts, the original shaman of overcooked shock had mellowed a tad, and whereas brief blasts of three-chord anarchy were all the rage, Arthur wasn’t about to be swayed by the musical disposition of a new generation of acne-festooned upstarts.

Call me a shameless old name-dropper and I’ll readily plead guilty, but esteemed rock writer, King Crimson sage and all around good egg, Sid Smith, said to me on that there Twitter: “Do you ever wake up and think I’ve probably got all the Arthur Brown I’m ever going to need in my lifetime?”

As the shelves of my CD cabinet bow under the weight of Arthur’s material, I remain resolutely in denial, but following a preliminary listen to Chisholm in my Bosom, I did begin to wonder if, perhaps, I had.

The lustre is severely lacking on tracks like ‘Need to Know’ and ‘Let A Little Sunshine (Into Your Life)’, with their worrying tinges of MOR country rock; and ‘She’s On My Mind’ sits as close to the nadir of Arthur Brown’s recorded oeuvre as its possible to get without being sucked under by the awful Strangelands. One has to wonder if this is a conscious effort to infiltrate the mainstream, as though the advent of punk has sent the God of Hellfire scurrying away towards its polar opposite, in the bid to remain alternative.

But fear not, dear reader, for this is Arthur Brown, after all, and it rare that we at HFoS find him to be a complete letdown. Allow me to present the case for the defence:

‘Monkey Walk’ and the god-bothering, gospel-flavoured ‘The Lord is my Saviour’ inject some much needed life into what would originally have been side A of a vinyl-based long player. But it is a triumphant revisiting of ‘I Put a Spell on You’, nine years after recording it as part of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, that stands out here. A decidedly more laid back rendition than either his CWoAB or the original Screamin’ Jay Hawkins version, what it lacks in a frantic Vincent Crane Hammond organ swirl, it makes up for in its gradual intensification and dignified, all round execution.

The title track (which took up the entirety of the B-side 34 years ago) is a 23 minute return to form of the more experimental Brown, previously heard during the Kingdom Come era, that reassures the listener of Crazy Arthur’s ability to still produce interesting and imaginative music, regardless of some of the aforementioned rot that Chisholm in my Bosom churns out.

Which highlights the fact that, whereas the inconsistencies of Chisholm in my Bosom might’ve suggested that by 1977 Arthur Brown was a spent force, the truth of the matter was it was a mere two years away from the recording of what was possibly his finest moment. I refer, of course, to the re-teaming with Crazy World keyboardist Vincent Crane (who also appears here on ‘The Lord is my Saviour’) and the excellent Faster Than the Speed of Light.

That album is essential. This one’s just okay.

Chisholm in my Bosom, by Arthur Brown, is reissued by Esoteric and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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With a timorous and unassuming bearing, it’s difficult to equate his appearance with the fearsome sound that King Crimson produced, beginning with the heart-stopping opening to ’21st Century Schizoid Man’, right through to the closer of 1974′s Red, the wonderfully eclectic and moving ‘Starless’.

1968′s The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles & Fripp, featuring Mike and Peter Giles – both of who would feature at some point or another in the ever-changing King Crimson line-up – came out a year before In the Court of the Crimson King, the KC debut, and couldn’t sound any more different to that album if it tried. What a difference a year makes, eh?

The Derek and Clive-style album cover signposts Cheerful Insanity… as a jocular affair. There is none of the oppressive, yet exhilarating darkness that would mark King Crimson out as a force to be reckoned with, nor any of the labyrinthine complexity that was a particular feature of their sound. Instead, Giles, Giles & Fripp offer a light-hearted trip into the realms of psychedelic pop whimsy, punctuated by the unfortunate saga of one Rodney Toady (narrated by Fripp, in Python mode) and a young chap called Just George.

Leaving King Crimson aside for the moment, The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles & Fripp is a singular entity, deserving of consideration beyond the marvellously extensive legacy fashioned by its noble heir.

The first thing that strikes thee about the album is the Englishness of it all. From the aforementioned cover, to the polite gent-about-town channelling of Viv Stanshall’s behind-the-mic persona. It is supremely silly in places and moderately darker in others, while treading a musical path that is – in the spirit of the tremendous talent showcased here – interesting, though in no way revolutionary for the time.

The off-kilt, gentle humour that pervades throughout is largely the concept of the Giles brothers, who are credited with writing the majority of the material hereon. Indeed, it was allegedly Peter Giles’s desire to continue along this whimsical path that saw him ousted from the original King Crimson recording line-up in favour of Greg Lake, who would take his place on both bass and vocals.

The mundanities of life come under the microscope in minor gems such as ‘One in a Million’, ‘Digging my Lawn’ and ‘Thursday Morning’, all backed by a melodic, jazz-flavoured pleasantness. Fripp has his guitar moments throughout and his technique is really allowed to find a purchase on his own composition, the oft-busy, multi-faceted ‘Suite No. 1′.

With added string contingent, brass section, backing group and Rolling Stones’ cohort Nicky Hopkins on keyboards, The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles and Fripp is a beguiling and, most importantly, enjoyable romp through the green pastures of English eccentricity; a moderately more refined, less showy, take on toytown psychedelia.

As an added incentive, the bonus tracks on the CD reissue include the original version of Fripp’s otherworldy ‘Under the Sky’ (an alternative Julie Dyble sung rendition of which, is on the comprehensive The Brondesbury Tapes); later recorded by King Crimson lyricist, Pete Sinfield, and featured on August’s HFoS Prog Rock Mixtape.

The Cheerful Insanity of Giles, Giles and Fripp is reissued by Esoteric and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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Well, it is Halloween, so what better than a horrifying mix of prog, psych and folk to blow the cobwebs from your proverbial tombstones?

Sometimes (ahem) terrifying, sometimes spooky, other times just plain weird. It’s a tricky treat, all the way.

Press play and prepare for a scare. (Track list below)

[See post to listen to audio]

^{Comus – Diana (from First Utterance)}

^{Kevin Ayers – Song From the Bottom of a Well (from whatevershebringswesing)}

^{Kaleidoscope – The Murder of Lewis Tollani (from Tangerine Dream)}

^{Dr. Z – Evil Woman’s Manly Child (from Three Parts to My Soul)}

^{The Dog That Bit People – Reptile Man (from The Dog That Bit People)}

^{Skin Alley – Graveyard Shuffle (from Two Quid Deal?)}

^{Magnet – Maypole (from The Wicker Man OST)}

^{Names & Faces – The Killer}

^{Caravan – C’thlu Thlu (from For Girls That Grow Plump in the Night)}

^{The Alan Parsons Project [feat. Arthur Brown] – The Tell-Tale Heart (from Tales of Mystery and Imagination)}

^{H.P. Lovecraft – At the Mountains of Madness (from HP Lovecraft II)}

^{Beggars Opera – The Witch (from Pathfinder)}

^{Pink Floyd – Jugband Blues (from A Saucerful of Secrets)}

If this has tickled your fancy, The HFoS Prog Rock Summer Mixtape and HFoS Goes to Toytown are also available.

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I’ll tell thee. The Alan Parsons Project is what you’ve got; a collaboration between the aforementioned sound engineer, Alan Parsons, and Eric Woolfson. Together, they would release 10 albums between 1976 and 1987 under the TAPP banner, the first of which, Tales of Mystery and Imagination: Edgar Allen Poe, is without a doubt the finest.

Created in conjunction with an army of session musicians and guest vocalists – Parsons and Woolfson pitching in where necessary – the 1976 debut is a masterly example of the much-derided concept album in action. Each track takes one of Edgar Allen Poe’s tales of the macabre and adapts it to a piece of prog rock loveliness. Granted, it loses something in its translation, ensuring little of the suspense or, indeed, the mystery that its source material provides, but who cares when there’s such a cracking selection of tunes on offer?

Tales of Mystery and Imagination is an album shot through with highlights, of which ‘The Raven’ (featured on August’s ‘Prog Rock Mixtape‘, for those who’ve still not heard it) comes out on top. Allegedly the first rock song to feature a digital vocoder, its lushly distorted vocal, courtesy of Parsons himself, adds a deeper dimension to actor Leonard Whiting’s lead vocal and provides the atmospheric perch upon which the rest of this outrageous concept piece is allowed to thrive.

Whereas Roger Corman had Vincent Price, Parsons has the consistently reliable, and HFoS favourite, Arthur Brown providing his unique stylings upon the frantic ‘Tell-Tale Heart’. The histrionics associated with  the “God of Hellfire” find a perfect outlet in the musical rendering of this guilt-ridden tale of madness. Whatever the crazy fucker had beneath his own floorboards in 1976 is anybody’s guess.

Future Alan Parsons Projects would sound very 1980s in their execution, as off-putting for me as your good self, I’m sure, but Tales of Mystery and Imagination remains resolutely 1970s throughout. Keyboard heavy and not afraid to let its more ostentatious persona let rip.

The duo’s classical pretensions reach fruition on the instrumental suite ‘Fall of the House of Usher’, which is carved into five sections and incorporates a fully blown orchestra in its interpretation of one of Poe’s most famous works. Subtle and audacious in turns, it provides a fittingly stylish focal point for the album as a whole, although its po(e)-faced bearing is less in tune with the purposely overwrought Grand Guignol that precedes it.

Unfortunately, the old adage “if it ain’t broke, don’t ruddy fix it” fell upon deaf ears in 1987, when Tales of Mystery and Imagination was remixed and an Orson Welles narration (recorded in 1976 for promotional purposes) was added. This is included on the 2-disc Deluxe Edition of the album, along with a host of other bonus tracks, including an original demo of ‘The Raven’, minus vocoder devilry.

Nonetheless, this 1976 masterpiece remains an essential slice of progressive rock; the type of which embraced studio boffinry but not to the extent that it sucked the life from it, as with future Alan Parsons Projects.

Tales of Mystery and Imagination by The Alan Parsons Project is available to buy as a Deluxe Expanded edition from Amazon.co.uk

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Unless, of course, you were New York’s own The Free Spirits, whose sole album, Out of Sight and Sound, is widely regarded as one of the first jazz-rock excursions. Live at the Scene captures the band in February 1967, tearing up the then legendary NYC venue, Steve Paul’s The Scene. Well, perhaps not “tearing up”, but giving it a jolly good seeing to, nonetheless.

Fronted by jazz-rock stalwart and veteran guitarist, Larry Coryell (responsible for pushing the embryonic Spirits in a rock direction), the band was a celebrated live phenomenon, some of the unbridled energy and passion of which Live at the Scene attempts to convey. And if it’s a raw, Mr. Sheen-free document you’re after, of possibly the first fusion band engaging in some psychedelically-charged, sonic livestock-worrying, then this release could be right up your jazz-rock boulevard.

Sound quality is not the priority here. In fact, you could say it’s virtually non-existent; such is the homemade, lo-fidelity nature of this recording. The liner notes make no secret of this. There was no fancy sound desk rigged up to filter out ambient noise and feedback; or ensure that the band benefitted from the cleanest sound reproduction possible. A home tape-recorder and its mono-directional mic, suspended above the stage, is all that was used to capture this performance; giving Live at the Scene the feel of a bootleg, complete with both audience and band chatter, sometimes manifesting higher in the mix than the song currently being played.

But hey, it’s 1967 and The Free Spirits give a spirited (what else?) account of their one and only album, including pared down versions of nifty little numbers like ‘Sunday Telephone’, ‘Cosmic Daddy Dancer’ and the lesser psychedelic rock anthem (here minus its intoxicating sitar), ‘I’m Gonna Be Free’. A fully jazzed-up rendition of Dizzy Gillespie’s ‘A Night in Tunisa’ closes the show, featuring an indefatigably corky guest trumpet from another American jazz-rock doyen, Randy Brecker. It’s an impressive example of a band playing at full strength; the musical cohesion that exists between all the members shamelessly on display for both the enraptured audience and the cheeky buggers, such as us, listening at home a full 44 years later.

Jazz fusion, fuelled by the progressive rock scene, would become a more malleable beast in the 1970s, with blends of the dual disciplines demonstrated in ever more innovative and exciting ways. The Free Spirits were there at the beginning; more a case of psychedelically-infused rock and jazz than the seamless entity that followed; and, as such, their groundbreaking, yet (in this instance) warts and all, labours deserve to be heard.

Live at the Scene by The Free Spirits is issued by Sunbeam Records and available to buy from Amazon.co.uk

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Indeed, and although some of the songs on HFoS Goes to Toytown may stretch the boundaries of what the purist might define as “Toytown Psychedelia”, I believe the term “slightly out of whack” can be applied to all.

They also demonstrate, in varying degrees, a jaunty childlike innocence; a harking back to an imagined, rose-tinted past; and an occasional darkness associated with things lurking under the bed. All characteristics that further define the paisley-patterned pathways of Toytown.

Seasoned HFoS veterans will probably know most of these songs already and you can debate among yourselves (or in the comments below, should the urge take you) whether the likes of ‘In Another Land’, ‘Berkshire Poppies’ and ‘Village Green’ can really be classed as “Toytown”.

It is what it is. If HFoS Goes to Toyland Vol. 2 ever sees the light of day, it’ll probably feature some decidedly more obscure, yet inarguably Toytown stuff… but until that day comes, hit the play button below and embark on a lysergic musical trip of S. G. Hulme Beaman proportions. (Track list below)

If this happens to tickle your fancy, The HFoS Prog Rock Summer Mixtape is also available.

[See post to listen to audio]

^{Tyrannosaurus Rex – Romany Soup [Excerpt of John Peel intro] (from Unicorn)}

^{Kevin Ayers – Joy Of A Toy Continued (from Joy of a Toy)}

^{Traffic – Hole In My Shoe (from Mr. Fantasy)}

^{The Rolling Stones – In Another Land (from Their Satanic Majesties Request)}

^{The Status Quo – Gentleman Joe’s Sidewalk Cafe (from Picturesque Matchstickable Messages from the Status Quo)}

^{July – Jolly Mary (from July)}

^{Mark Wirtz – He’s Our Dear Old Weatherman (from A Teenage Opera)}

^{The Kinks – Village Green (from Kinks Are the Village Preservation Society)}

^{Dantalian’s Chariot – Madman Running Through The Field (from Chariot Rising)}

^{The Alan Bown Set – Mr. Job}

^{World of Oz – Hum-Gum Tree (from The World of Oz)}

^{The Move – Curly (from Shazam)}

^{Alfie Shepherd – The Swallow’s Song (from The Wind in the Willows)}

^{Aphrodite’s Child – Mister Thomas (from End of the World)}

^{Kaleidoscope – Further Reflections In The Room Of Percussion (from Tangerine Dream)}

^{Pink Floyd – Matilda Mother (from Piper At the Gates of Dawn)}

^{Fat Mattress – Walking Through A Garden (from Fat Mattress)}

^{Traffic – Berkshire Poppies (From Mr. Fantasy)}

^{World of Oz – Muffin Man (from The World of Oz)}

^{The Small Faces – HappyDaysToyTown (from Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake)}

^{Keith West – Grocer Jack}

^{The Sweetshop – Barefoot and Tiptoe [Excerpt of outro]}

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