Van Morrison 1: Them

As a youth in Belfast, Van Morrison was obsessed with jazz and rhythm & blues, but by the time bands like his were getting noticed, record companies were looking to jump on the British Invasion bandwagon. So over the two years and two dozen players who passed through their ranks, Them were tasked with making hit singles out of their brand of British R&B—kinda like the Animals. Producer and songwriter Bert Berns came over from New York to cash in, sometimes using one Jimmy Page to bolster the studio sound.

Somehow the Van-penned B-side of “Baby Please Don’t Go” became a huge hit (and garage band staple) on both sides of the pond, and since America was all about hits, “Gloria” was emblazoned on the cover and among three single sides added to the distillation of the excellently titled British album The Angry Young Them. It was placed at the end of side one, which began with Berns’ “Here Comes The Night”, another hit with a distinct Sam Cooke influence in the vocal. Berns also foisted “Go On Home Baby”, which features rare harmonies from another band member, on them. John Lee Hooker’s “Don’t Look Back” is a cool ballad with tasty piano, and the prominent organ of “I’m Gonna Dress In Black” makes it very much an Animals soundalike. “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66” had already been claimed—and nailed—by the Stones.

Of Van’s own songs, “Mystic Eyes” is the standout, basically a two-chord jam with a seemingly extemporaneous recital that’s a forerunner to his later, longer ruminations. (“Little Girl” isn’t as successful, and “One Two Brown Eyes” is more notable for its slide guitar effects.) “One More Time” and “If You And I Could Be As Two” are attempts at seduction, stuck between belting and speaking, and “I Like It Like That” mostly meanders.

Less than a year later, Them Again shaved the British version down to twelve tracks, still split between Van originals and covers. Of these, their moody take on Dylan’s “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” is the clear winner. Chris Kenner’s “Something You Got” has a sax solo that might be Van, and these days it’s interesting to hear “Turn On Your Love Light” and consider that Them’s version could be what inspired the Dead to do it. “I Can Only Give You Everything” is a trashy variation on the usual garage riff, and “Out Of Sight” is the closest they got to being James Brown. Tommy Scott was now their producer, so four of his songs made the album. “Call My Name” and “How Long Baby” are rather ordinary, but “I Can Only Give You Everything” has a cool snotty riff, and the flute and piano on “Don’t You Know” predict “Moondance”.

Van himself was limited to four songwriting credits. “Could You, Would You” with its powerful drum fills opened the album, and the double acoustic guitar on “My Lonely Sad Eyes” almost makes it folk-rock. “Bad Or Good” is nice and soulful, just as “Bring ‘Em On In” is defiant.

Management issues and general disinterest led to the band splitting into factions on tour, and ultimately Van went off to be a solo artist of merit, which meant that various repackages of Them material popped up throughout the ‘70s. The first, 1972’s Them… Featuring Van Morrison, excerpted ten songs from each of the American albums but in reverse order, with dense liner notes by Lester Bangs in phone book-size type across the inner gatefold. Two years later, Backtrackin’ helpfully offered up ten tracks that weren’t on either of the American albums, including such singles as “Baby Please Don’t Go” and their cover of Simon & Garfunkel’s “Richard Cory”, as well as “Hey Girl” (another flute-laden precursor to “Cyprus Avenue”) and the previously unreleased “Mighty Like A Rose”. Three years after that, The Story Of Them offered nine more of the same, mostly blues covers but also the rare title track, a rambling memoir in changing keys originally split over two sides of a single but here continuous, the early EP track “Philosophy”, and the lovely late single “Friday’s Child”.

Eventually, The Best Of Van Morrison included “Gloria”, “Baby Please Don’t Go”, and “Here Comes The Night”; Volume Two offered “Don’t Look Back” and “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” amidst songs from the ‘80s simply because Polydor still had the rights to them. Another attempt to tell The Story Of Them Featuring Van Morrison on two CDs had to navigate mono mixes and stereo remixes, and still seemed to be somewhat random in its sequencing. It wasn’t until the band’s 50th anniversary (and Van’s partnership with Sony Legacy) that The Complete Them 1964-1967 presented a full chronological overview, with all of the singles and album tracks in context on two discs, and a third devoted to previously unreleased demos and select alternate takes and BBC sessions. Van even wrote the liner notes. Getting to hear the singles in release order doesn’t take away the haphazard construction of the albums, even in the British sequences, but we do hear his voice and songwriting improve.

Them Them (1965)—3
Them Them Again (1966)—3
Them Backtrackin’ (1974)—2½
Them The Story Of Them (1977)—2½
Them The Complete Them 1964-1967 (2015)—3

Nilsson 1: Spotlight On Nilsson

Harry Nilsson was always something of a cult artist, the type of guy who had lots of fans in the business, even when he didn’t sell records. He never toured, and his live appearances were limited to presenting on awards shows. He began as a songwriter, yet the songs he’s arguably known best for were written by other people.

But he also had quite a voice, and a wide range, so he managed to record some singles for a Capitol Records subsidiary that didn’t remotely overspend on graphic design. Both sides of each of those singles, plus two other songs recorded during that period, were collected on Spotlight On Nilsson, which wouldn’t gain any real attention until it was reissued multiple times after he became a big name, and even then not by much. (He didn’t have the face of a teen idol anyway.)

With ten songs coming in at a whopping 22 minutes, the album barely hints at his potential, but even buried under the generic ‘60s production, his voice is recognizable. Well, most of the time; “The Path That Leads To Trouble” sports a growl similar to that of Sonny Bono, who likely worked with Harry on some Phil Spector sessions. “Good Times” would be offered to the Monkees, though they wouldn’t finish it for 50 years. “So You Think You’ve Got Troubles” serves up a wonderful litany of ailments, very much in the vein of future humorous Nilsson tracks, but it’s a cover of a little-known country song. “I’m Gonna Lose My Mind” dabbles in R&B, right down to the Raelettes-style singers mixed just as high as he is. “She’s Yours” crams a lot of tempo changes and dynamics into two minutes.

A startlingly rearranged “Sixteen Tons”, go-go style, nearly renders the song unrecognizable, but it wouldn’t be the last time he’d tinker with a standard. A similar arrangement pins “Born In Grenada”, wherein we’re supposed to buy that he’s from Mississippi. “You Can’t Take Your Love (Away From Me)” is a forced title nowhere near as good as the “think about the good times” bridge, but he was still learning. Presented lullabye-style, “Growin' Up” sounds more like the sophisticated pop he’d develop soon enough, but “Do You Believe” is more generic soul.

Spotlight On Nilsson is a mere taster for a career that would go in several directions, but even from the start, he was set on using just the surname. It’s available for streaming, or you can search for an obscure CD that pairs the tunes with a John Stewart album from four years later called Willard, the title track of which, sadly, is not related to the film about a man obsessed with rats.

Nilsson Spotlight On Nilsson (1966)—2

Booker T. & The MG’s: In The Christmas Spirit

Given that everybody allowed near a microphone in the 21st century has recorded a Christmas album, sometimes you just want to get away from yet another version of a song that’s been sung many times in many ways. That’s why we usually reach for the nearest holiday CD that’s instrumental. But even those can sound alike after a while, particularly if they’re in the same old easy listening, jazz, or classical mode. At the same time, rock ‘n roll takes on the catalog tend to lose their novelty after a while, even if only played a couple of weeks out of the year.

That’s what makes In The Christmas Spirit by Booker T. & The MG’s such a welcome respite season after season. A combo best known for the classic “Green Onions” and sharing the guitarist and bass player with the Blues Brothers, here the band serves up a dozen favorites in the same Memphis R&B groove that established them as the Stax Records house band. Hammond B-3 organ takes center stage for most of it, with tasteful Telecaster and percolating bass over perfectly syncopated drums.

Having originally been issued as two sides of a record, the first half is more upbeat, with the usual suspects (“Jingle Bells”, “Winter Wonderland”, “Silver Bells”, etc.) while the second takes a slower pace, starting with a bluesy “Merry Christmas Baby”, staying quiet for “Silent Night”, “We Three Kings” and the like, which sound for all the world like church if not for the ticking snare drum. Just to remind you who they are, the set picks up at the very end with “We Wish You A Merry Christmas”.

Like most albums of the time, In The Christmas Spirit is short, but likely to get repeat plays once it’s loaded up. We haven’t figured out why the album had two different covers a year apart over here; adding to the confusion, it was called Soul Christmas—not to be confused with an entirely different compilation—with another alternative for the artwork overseas. As for the extraneous apostrophe in the band’s name, we’ll leave the blame with the record company.

Booker T. & The MG’s In The Christmas Spirit (1966)—4

Kinks 7: Face To Face

The Stones had Between The Buttons, a thoroughly British album nobody knows about today, but they wouldn’t’ve got there were it not for The Kinks. Face To Face, with its exploding head Carnaby Street cover and song content, is the first album they made that fits in with what all Ray Davies’ disciples see as his mission to preserve the Empire for future generations. (He was merely writing songs, of course, but we’re not about to let facts get in the way of mythology.)

After a relevant sound effect, Dave gets the first track (again) with “Party Line”, a song that makes no sense in this century, much less decade. “Rosie Won’t You Please Come Home” works as a lonesome track, though it wouldn’t be years before anybody knew this was another plea to an older Davies sister, who would go on to inspire future Kinks works. “Dandy” was also a hit for Herman’s Hermits, a good pick being a portrait of a still-dedicated follower of fashion. “Too Much On My Mind” presents another portrait of the artist in distress, decorated by a gentle harpsichord courtesy of Nicky Hopkins. He also gets to play the flourish on the next track, a tribute to a “Session Man” much like himself. Nicky gets to add better color to “Rainy Day In June” (along with lots of thunder effects), a very advanced track that doesn’t deviate from a single bass note (or tonal, or drone, what have you) but still conveys an image. That makes “House In The Country”, social comment notwithstanding, almost a break in the tension with its barrelhouse piano and Dave’s leads borrowed from Chuck Berry.

While it’s supposed to suggest rolling waves, the opening of “Holiday In Waikiki” more evokes a draining sink or flushing toilet on half-speed. But that’s incidental compared to the bent surf homage of the lyrics and guitar. More social comment comes in “Most Exclusive Residence For Sale”, wherein the well-respected man has to sell his house. In case “Dandy” didn’t do it for you on side one, “Fancy” crosses British chamber pop with Indian drone wonderfully. “Little Miss Queen Of Darkness” builds a trad-jazz pastiche on a barely in-tune acoustic, then Dave takes over “You’re Lookin’ Fine” for a welcome bit of variety (Ray must not have felt comfortable being so brazen). One could be forgiven for thinking the entire album was a setup for “Sunny Afternoon”, the big single from the summer before. This is almost the prelude to “Most Exclusive Residence”, though we have a little more sympathy for the well-respected man on this track. But lest we get too serious, “I’ll Remember” is a simple fare-thee-well, combining Ray’s Ricky Ricardo homage in dropping the “g” from “everything” and Dave’s lead part, which would inspire the incidental music for The Prisoner.

Some accounts call Face To Face a concept album, but outside of sound effects, good luck finding a story. Instead, these are terrific songs that would have had the Beatles and Stones on their collective toes. It’s their secret weapon, an album nobody mentions, but those who do positively revere. Recent repackages (all imports, but easy enough to find) add contemporary singles, B-sides and unreleased tracks of dubious vintage, but this might be one of those albums that’s best left alone.

The Kinks Face To Face (1966)—4

Kinks 6: Greatest Hits!

Since it had been a few months since their last LP, and another one wasn’t due until the end of the year, Reprise took it upon themselves to compile a Kinks hits collection. It was fairly easy to do; just pull together all their A-sides, right? Well, they didn’t exactly do that, and the emphatically if incorrectly titled Greatest Hits! collected nine songs that had already been on US LPs, plus their latest hit.

One sound was common to their most popular songs, and that guitar kicks off several of those hits in a row—“You Really Got Me”, “Tired Of Waiting For You”, “Set Me Free”—before the less obvious selections of “Something Better Beginning” and “Who’ll Be The Next In Line”. “Till The End Of The Day” is the potboiler kicking off side two, before we come to the one song that hadn’t been on an album yet. With a slow distorted strum, “Dedicated Follower Of Fashion” is another one of Ray’s satiric portraits of current styles, camped up in the vocals and responses, and underscored by “A Well Respected Man” coming next. “Ev’rybody’s Gonna Be Happy” kicks up the party, ending with “All Day And All Of The Night”.

It’s tough to quibble with the quality of the songs, and since Reprise had already collected most of the extraneous tracks on previous albums, there weren’t a lot of rarities left. As it was, Greatest Hits! totaled 24 minutes upon original release. Rhino’s 1989 album of a similar title used a different sequence for their LP, though their CD did include all of the songs from the Reprise set, in glorious mono, with eight more tracks of the same period. But by then, the band’s legacy had gone far beyond the pre-psychedelic era, and any compilation had to take that in mind.

The Kinks Greatest Hits! (1966)—4

Kinks 5: Kontroversy

While it was released a full four months later in the US than it was in the UK, and used different cover art, The Kink Kontroversy had the same track sequence everywhere, putting the band in the same company of the few contemporaries that cared about such things. And even though it was banged out in just about a week in the studio, the songs show the further maturation of Ray as a songwriter and the band as a band.

That said, their grungy take on “Milk Cow Blues” is something of a warmup, before the ultra-gentle “Ring The Bells”. “Gotta Get The First Plane Home” beats a basic riff into the ground, and teases us with the same note before “When I See That Girl Of Mine” bursts forth. Dave’s writing improves as well on “I Am Free”, a song his brother would be proud to write. (Name another song of the era that uses the word “convalesce”.) “Till The End Of The Day” revives the classic “Really Got Me” chording approach.

Side two begins with another terrific run of songs, beginning with the weariness of “The World Keeps Going Round”, followed by the goofy “I’m On An Island”. “Where Have All The Good Times Gone?” has the distinction of being covered by both David Bowie and Van Halen, and if you listen carefully, quotes recent lyrics from Beatles and Stones tunes. The tempo of “It’s Too Late” perhaps reveals their exhaustion of having to work so fast, and elevates Dave’s performance on “What’s In Store For Me” and the brothers’ blend on “You Can’t Win”.

Being a Shel Talmy production, the drums rattle like biscuit tins and the guitars are distorted. But the band sounds tight, thanks to Nicky Hopkins on piano and, apparently, Clem Cattini filling in for Mick Avory on the kit. The Kink Kontroversy was the band’s best album yet, and notable for not leaning solely on singles to drive sales. In fact, future reissues and Deluxe Editions only had to add one contemporary single to the picture, along with other B-sides, demos and BBC recordings.

The Kinks The Kink Kontroversy (1966)—3½

Yardbirds 3: Over Under Sideways Down

Having racked up enough hit singles in the UK, somebody decided the Yardbirds were ready to record a full studio album. By this time impresario Giorgio Gomelsky was no longer in charge, so production was shared by bassist Paul Samwell-Smith and new manager Simon Napier-Bell in a feat of hyphenation. The band even wrote all the songs themselves, or at least they were credited that way.

Over there the album’s title was simply Yardbirds, but because the cover had a drawing captioned Roger The Engineer, that became how it was known among those who bought it. In America, where it was the band’s third album, two songs were off, and the set was called Over Under Sideways Down in honor of the hit single it was pushing, with wacky cover art to match.

It’s a good start with “Lost Women”, which follows a fairly standard riff and takes a cool extended “I’m A Man”-style raveup detour that nicely pairs Keith Relf’s harmonica and Jeff Beck’s guitar. The title song is another classic, pinned by everyone shouting “HEY!” and a raga-styled hook from Beck. “I Can’t Make Your Way” is surprisingly toe-tapping pop, with the harmonica and guitar nicely balanced under the verse (Relf seemingly harmonizing with himself) and another well-constructed Beck solo. The nursery rhyme piano of the brief “Farewell” is odd enough, but then there’s the nutty chanting and wobble board in “Hot House Of Omagararshid”, and yes, the guitar solo should have come in much earlier.

That’s not the complaint with “Jeff’s Boogie”, another derivative piece that’s a showcase for his style. He’s got a good fuzz tone on the mildly menacing “He’s Always There”, one of the better paranoid lyrics of the period. “Turn Into Earth” has a similar Gregorian approach from “Still I’m Sad”, wordless vocals once again dominating over simple piano bass notes and distant guitar. But “What Do You Want” is a Bo Diddley-style rave-up that takes two chords to make its point. “Ever Since The World Began” is more doom-laden philosophizing about the evils of money in another exploration of near-Gregorian style, then switches to a boogie halfway through, and stops.

While it’s a strange little album, it hangs together very well. As time went on, and the band’s stature increased with their legend, fans would have sought out British pressings, if only for the two extra songs on side one that shifted “Hot House” up to the start of side two. “The Nazz Are Blue” featured Jeff Beck singing, kind of, and had already inspired the name of Todd Rundgren’s first band, while “Rack My Mind” was another average boogie.

For some reason, Epic reissued the album in 1983 on LP and cassette as The Yardbirds, using the original British cover and lineup, but with the added bonus of the single “Happenings Ten Years Time Ago” at the top of side one and its B-side, “Psycho Daisies”, ending side two. (These tracks are notable for being the only appearance of Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page together on Yardbirds recordings.) It didn’t make it to an American CD until 1997 when Warner Archives of all labels issued it as Roger The Engineer with the same 14 tracks, but sticking “Happenings” at the end after “Psycho Daisies”. Since then smaller labels have taken over, usually pairing the mono and stereo mixes and adding the single, and rotating bonus tracks like Keith Relf solo singles, “Stroll On” from the movie Blow-Up, the occasional alternate take, and their Great Shakes commercials. So it’s out there; Spotify alone currently has three different editions of the album available for streaming.

The Yardbirds Over Under Sideways Down (1966)—3½
1983 The Yardbirds reissue: same as 1966, plus 4 extra tracks

Cream 1: Fresh Cream

These days Eric Clapton is the most famous member, but Cream started out as a compact democracy. The original power trio, they had Clapton on guitar (naturally) delivering the blues angle, rounded out by two jazz pedigreed guys in Ginger Baker on drums and Jack Bruce on bass, vocals, harmonica and whatever else he could touch.

Bruce was the dominant singer in the band, established on Fresh Cream, seeing as Clapton wasn’t as confident in his vocals at the start. Besides being able to carry a tune while playing the bass, Bruce’s keening baritone lent itself to layered harmonies, as displayed on “N.S.U.” and “Sweet Wine”, both of which could be called psychedelic before the fact. “Sleepy Time Time” and “Dreaming” come from more of a music hall tradition, which likely appealed to manager Robert Stigwood. All together, they deliver a diverse menu of styles. (Just to keep things confusing, the original US LP began with “I Feel Free”, their first hit single, and omitted “Spoonful”, which ended the first side. In their homeland, the opposite was the case. The CD you can buy today includes both, thankfully, being essential to the album.)

Side two provides something of a blues primer, being mostly hepped-up arrangements of songs every London R&B band should have memorized by then. “Cat’s Squirrel” is a suspended-fourth riff as old as the hills, and just plain fun. Clapton sings a rather polite lead on Robert Johnson’s ragtimey “Four Until Late”, which is wiped aside by a furious “Rollin’ And Tumblin’”. “I’m So Glad”, an extremely simple Skip James song, rises above its simplicity via a neat descending intro, compact guitar solo and dynamic drums. Those drums dominate the last song on the album, as “Toad” begins with a jam on E, followed by a definitely musical drum solo that would become a template, for better for worse, for drummers of all levels of skill.

It’s a terrific debut, economical and powerful. The one nitpicky thing that holds back enjoyment of the album—besides the bomber jackets on the cover—is its extreme stereo separation, with the basic backing track (instruments) in one channel and the vocals on the other. That makes some tracks sound like one of your speakers isn’t working, and after seemingly every other album had received some kind of expanded edition, Fresh Cream had to wait until its fiftieth anniversary had passed before this was rectified. The Super Deluxe Edition presented the original British sequence in both mono and stereo, each on its own disc bolstered by singles and alternate mixes. A third disc added a pile of outtakes and BBC sessions, while a Blu-ray disc included the US mix (plus “Spoonful”, their first single “Wrapping Paper”, and “The Coffee Song”, a rarity released against their wishes in Scandinavia) in both mono and stereo, in high resolution.

Cream Fresh Cream (1966)—4
2017 Super Deluxe Edition: same as 1966, plus 52 extra tracks (and Blu-ray)

Eric Clapton 1: Blues Breakers

John Mayall was responsible for launching the careers of countless blues guitarists and bands, mostly because the people he found kept taking off on him and forming other outfits. He himself wasn’t blessed with the best voice, but made up for it with his organ and harmonica playing, and gave his sidemen room to shine. Blues Breakers was his second album, on which he gave co-billing in the same size type to the lead guitarist who’d bolted from the Yardbirds for being too poppy.

This is a solid electric blues album, wherein Eric Clapton displays his prowess and tone on a Les Paul, and a good argument that the Brits played it better than any other imitators. And they weren’t stuck in the past, either; through this album disciples were turned on to the likes of Otis Rush, Freddie King, Memphis Slim, and Little Walter. Respectively, “All Your Love”, “Hideaway”, “Steppin’ Out”, and “It Ain’t Right” were only a few years old at the time. “Parchman Farm” is based on Mose Allison’s arrangement, and features no guitar we can discern. Ray Charles’ “What’d I Say” is mostly a setup for a Hughie Flint drum solo; when the band comes back in, Clapton quotes “Day Tripper”. The kid also takes his first lead vocal on Robert Johnson’s “Ramblin’ On My Mind”.

Of the originals, “Little Girl” is tight and tense, while “Another Man” recycles older lyrics as Mayall’s own (tsk tsk) for a harmonica showcase. “Double Crossing Time” is a Mayall-Clapton cowrite, providing a slower change of pace, just as “Have You Heard” does on the other side. That one’s got a prominent saxophone; “Key To Love” uses a horn section well in the mix too. (That bass player, by the way, is the perennially unsung John McVie.)

When it first came out on CD, the only extra content was the now-famous photo of graffiti with canine commentary. An eventual remaster added a one-off duet single and its B-side, while the eventual Deluxe Edition put the mono and (later) stereo mixes on one disc, with a variety of BBC sessions and previously scattered live tracks, some of which have Jack Bruce on bass. But the original 12-track lineup will be enough to show why some thought Clapton was God.

John Mayall With Eric Clapton Blues Breakers (1966)—4
2001 remastered CD: same as 1966, plus 2 extra tracks
2009 Deluxe Edition: same as 2001, plus 29 extra tracks

Beach Boys 12: Pet Sounds

Pet Sounds is one of those albums that’s regularly shown up on “best-ever” lists for the last twenty years or so, and not always with evidence to back it up. Consequently people are of two minds about it—either it’s a masterpiece or it’s overrated. Much of the praise has been since its heralded CD debut in 1990, and many who bought it based on the hype might not have understood what the big deal was. Also, in a time when we’d been brainwashed into thinking CDs were the greatest technology ever, Pet Sounds was pointedly released in monophonic sound, just as its creator only ever heard it.

What we have here is a choral symphony for high school marching band with guitars. Brian is essentially a modern classical composer, and those are his predominant instruments of choice. It sounded just “Beach Boys” enough like what came before to sell a few copies when it came out, but not a lot. The label didn’t know what to do with it, and the band was confused but went on the road with it anyway. It was huge in England, spurring at least Paul McCartney to get the Beatles to push the envelope even further. (Which was only fair, since Brian said that Pet Sounds was inspired by the leaps and strides he’d heard on Rubber Soul—the American version, mind you.)

Okay, you say, so it’s a cultural touchstone, but what about the tunes? Most of them really are classics. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” opens side one with a fairly adult sentiment, and the themes of commitment and maturity continue for most of the side. “You Still Believe In Me” slows it down some, then it’s back up for “That’s Not Me”. “Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)”, like many of the songs here, could pass as classical music with the way it’s structured. “I’m Waiting For The Day” satisfies the pop crowd, and the side ends with the daring “Let’s Go Away For Awhile”, an instrumental that sounds like “please stand by” music on first listen but emerges as a hypnotic track that’s impossible to hum.

The rest of the album has more concessions for the beach crowd, starting with “Sloop John B”, which seems out place for the era (except for the eyebrow-raising line “this is the worst trip I’ve ever been on”). “God Only Knows” seems simple enough until you pay attention to the lyrics; also this was the first pop song to mention God in the title. “I Know There’s An Answer” and “Here Today” never did it for me, but try not being floored by “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times”, a three-minute anthem for any sensitive types who have ever felt remotely out of place. The title track is a catchy instrumental (and one you can actually hum) and is followed by the regretful “Caroline No”, an elegy for lost innocence.

That recap may not satisfy anyone, whether they’ve heard the album or not. Ultimately, Pet Sounds is a personal experience, more so than most albums. Luckily for the uninitiated, it’s easy enough to find. Since its first CD release, with three bonus tracks, it’s been reissued a variety of ways. Most notable was the Pet Sounds Sessions box set, a textbook lesson on how to record a classic album, complete with first-time-ever stereo mixes, rehearsal takes, music-only and vocals-only mixes and other trivia. That was the gold standard for 20 years, until yet another anniversary release repackaged the contents in a different order, added a whopping three further studio outtakes, and various live performances of the songs from as early as 1966 and as late as 1993. Oh, and a 5.1 surround mixes on Blu-ray. And another book.

For pretty cheap you can get a single CD with both stereo and mono mixes, or shell out more for a deluxe edition. But no matter the dressing, it’s up to you if the songs speak to you. If you’ve read this far, chances are they might.

The Beach Boys Pet Sounds (1966)—4½
1990 CD reissue: same as 1966, plus 3 extra tracks
1997 The Pet Sounds Sessions box set: same as 1990, plus 59 extra tracks
1999 CD reissue: same as 1966, plus 14 extra tracks
2006 40th Anniversary Edition: same as 1999, plus DVD
2016 50th Anniversary Edition: same as 1997, plus 14 extra tracks (and Blu-ray)

Simon & Garfunkel 3: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme

Helped along by well-timed singles, Simon & Garfunkel reached a level of excellence on their third album. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme exists in a private world of chamber pop, wherein traditional folk melodies mesh with suburban angst and wry commentary. If there’s anything negative to be said about it, it’s that it’s so short. But there’s a lot of quality crammed into those quickly played songs.

“Scarborough Fair/Canticle” is possibly the most famous version of this old English folk song, already borrowed heavily by Bob Dylan for “Girl From The North Country”. Here the haunting melody is juxtaposed against an original Simon anti-war lyric. “Patterns” interrupts with percussive guitar, insistent bongos and spooky organ, and the music finally lifts on “Cloudy”, despite its uncertain mood. “Homeward Bound” was already a hit single, recorded during the sessions for the second album, a vivid portrait of the lonely modern troubadour that doesn’t seem false in the least. Taking a step away from soul-searching, “The Big Bright Green Pleasure Machine” skewers commercialism (such as that which might even sell a few LPs). And “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)” was embraced by pot-smokers and pre-schoolers alike, possibly due to Simon’s second use, in a title even, of that archaic word.

“The Dangling Conversation” gets knocked for its pretentious tone, but that’s to be expected from the characters in the song. It’s still a lovely, sad song. The equally well-constructed “Flowers Never Bend With The Rainfall” wouldn’t sound out of place on a Monkees album, but it was actually recorded the previous year alongside “Homeward Bound”. A title like “A Simple Desultory Philippic (Or How I Was Robert McNamara’d Into Submission)” already sounds like a Dylan parody, which it is. Some of the pop-culture rhymes are very clever, and the impression is so pointed that Simon comes off of as just a little envious of his labelmate. It’s only fitting that this piece is followed by “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her”, an excellent candidate for Art Garfunkel’s greatest performance and an ode to the ultimate imaginary woman. The guitar strums faster and faster to an unresolved end, only to give way to a portrait of a graffitist in “A Poem On The Underground Wall”. And lest anyone get too comfortable, “7 O’Clock News/Silent Night” pits a typically harrowing modern news broadcast against a pastoral reading of the Christmas carol.

Its generally down atmosphere notwithstanding, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme is an enticing album, a work of art. Despite the rock combo heard on the songs that require one, the overall sound comes from the voices and acoustic guitar, with the barest embellishments, putting Simon & Garfunkel on a tier all by themselves. They knew they had something special, and the album’s importance in the biz was underscored by Ralph Gleason’s small-print liner notes, which may help illuminate some of the references.

Simon and Garfunkel Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme (1966)—4
2001 CD reissue: same as 1966, plus 2 extra tracks

Simon & Garfunkel 2: Sounds Of Silence

Since Dylan had successfully made the leap from acoustic to electric, producer Tom Wilson experimented with a song from the first Simon & Garfunkel album that was getting some airplay. By adding electric guitar, bass and drums to the song in question, all of a sudden the duo had a number-one hit with “The Sound Of Silence”. Which meant it was time to make another album.

Luckily for the new folk-rockers, Simon had been busy busking around London and writing new material (as displayed on his UK-only solo album released that fall, and subsequently mined back in America). So Sounds Of Silence came together in time for the new year, with the hit single version of “The Sound Of Silence” and its B-side, the dated “We’ve Got A Groovey Thing Goin’”, and “Somewhere They Can’t Find Me”, itself a rewrite of the title track of the first album, recorded earlier in the year and initially shelved. There is some further repetition within those; the “Anji” theme is previewed on “Somewhere They Can’t Find Me”, and adds the riff from “Groovey Thing” towards the end. Additionally, Simon seems to have a fixation on suicide: “Richard Cory” (based on a 19th-century poem) shoots himself, while “A Most Peculiar Man” succumbs to self-inflicted natural gas poisoning.

Nitpicking aside, Paul Simon was turning into an excellent songwriter. “Kathy’s Song” is a hypnotic love letter, while “Leaves That Are Green” and “April Come She Will” are stellar in their simplicity. “Blessed” is a little too dissonant for our tastes, but “I Am A Rock”, another hit single, is a catchy and telling in its defiance.

Sounds Of Silence rises past the certain curse of the quick cash-in. Not every tune is a gem, but the homework Paul had done busking in London pays off with excellent songwriting that strays from folk into the type of social commentary that would be his hallmark. (His only contemporary at the time was Ray Davies, whose tongue was much further into his own cheek. Where Simon saw despair and desolation, Davies suggested that a retreat to the old days would solve everything.) It’s also easy to see that the pair, now forced by commerce to work together, had already started to follow their own paths. Some songs are sung by one or the other, and many times Artie’s harmony seems like an afterthought. Because of the rushed nature of the album, the expanded CD from 2001 adds exactly one outtake from the main album sessions (a lovely reading of “Blues Run The Game”), padding the rest with three traditional songs recorded at their very last recording session in 1970.

Simon & Garfunkel Sounds Of Silence (1966)—3
2001 CD reissue: same as 1966, plus 4 extra tracks

Frank Zappa 1: Freak Out!

Something to consider about Frank Zappa’s first album is how much of his eventual career can be traced to it. It’s all here: influences from classical and avant-garde to doo-wop, extended guitar solos, “shocking” subject matter, and contempt for his audience, based on the assumption that they only care about commercial fluff and teenage heartbreak. Freak Out! was an incredibly bold debut for its time, as double albums were not common in 1966, even for established artists, and certainly not for a rock band’s debut.

The spine may have credited the album to The Mothers Of Invention, but a glance at the credits make it all too clear that Frank was in charge, especially from his “helpful” liner notes. “Hungry Freaks, Daddy” should have been proof that this wasn’t your average band, even when followed by the kiss-off in “I Ain’t Got No Heart”. “Who Are The Brain Police?” ushers in the weird, questioning authority and fixating on plastic and chrome. “Go Cry On Somebody Else’s Shoulder” is greasy doo-wop, and “How Could I Be Such A Fool” less so. “Motherly Love” is a more catchy come-on from the band.

“Wowie Zowie” goes out of its way to be dumb, complete with xylophone. Another trio of “safe songs” attempts to appeal to the masses: “You Didn't Try To Call Me”, “Any Way The Wind Blows” and “I’m Not Satisfied” would have easily made it on radio. But “You’re Probably Wondering Why I’m Here” deflates it all with a smirk.

The first two sides on their own straddled the way-in and the way-out, but the second disc in the set makes a solid left turn. “Trouble Every Day” is his first major political work, as well as a chance to stretch on the guitar. Then he calls in the rest of the band to get crazy for “Help, I’m A Rock” (and its virtual coda, “It Can’t Happen Here”). The craziness continues for the entirety of side four with a free jam (which Frank always maintained was unfinished) called “Return Of The Son Of Monster Magnet”.

Zappa freaks may not agree on everything, but they probably like Freak Out! It’s generally everyone’s introduction, whether they bought it in 1966 or came across it later. And since Frank was so concerned with continuity and historical context, it’s still a good place to start.

The album’s importance to his estate (a rather controlling outfit called the Zappa Family Trust, or ZFT) was underscored by the release of an archival entity called The MOFO Project/Object, “MOFO” being a handy acronym for “Making Of Freak Out”. Typical of the ZFT, it was available in two configurations, both featuring music not heard on the other, forcing fans to buy both (or procure them by nefarious means). The big one had four discs, while the one subtitled fazedooh was whittled to two.

Both featured the “original stereo vinyl mix” of the album on disc one, and filled the balance of space with a variety of basic tracks and vocal takes that illuminate some elements of the instruments and utterances hidden after the original fades. His ability with an Xacto knife shows in the various mixes and edits of “Help I’m A Rock” and “Monster Magnet”, but the outtake “Groupie Bang Bang” would never have passed muster back then; besides being a fairly pedestrian Bo Diddley homage, the lyrics are a little too pointed, but for conceptual continuity purposes, they point the way to both the Flo & Eddie era and one of the subplots of Joe’s Garage. Interview snippets and later mixes fulfill the promise of being an “audio documentary”, while segments of a live performance at the Fillmore Auditorium the week the album came out prove that despite the use of studio musicians, including Carol Kaye on 12-string and various horns and strings on the album proper, the Mothers were actually a decent R&B combo.

The Mothers Of Invention Freak Out! (1966)—4
Frank Zappa The MOFO Project/Object (fazedooh) (2006)—3½
Frank Zappa The MOFO Project/Object (2006)—3½

Byrds 3: Fifth Dimension

On only their third album, the Byrds were down to a quartet. Gene Clark, whose superior songwriting was resented by the others, left the band under the excuse that he was afraid to fly and couldn’t tour. As a result, Fifth Dimension suffers from his absence. The hits are there, of course, and the band’s blend of stellar harmonies and improved playing holds them together, but something’s missing, and it’s Gene.

“5D (Fifth Dimension)” shows Jim McGuinn already getting out there in terms of science fiction, and approaching psychedelia. Its dense lyrics are nicely matched to a folk melody, which is echoed in their pretty arrangement of “Wild Mountain Thyme”. Then it’s back to sci-fi with the jaunty “Mr. Spaceman”, which is much easier to sing despite the forcibly Dylanesque imagery. “I See You” demonstrates some of McGuinn and Crosby’s interest in Coltrane free jazz, which would improve elsewhere. “What’s Happening?!?!” is a much better Crosby song, and very indicative of the questioning types of lyrics he’d continue to write. Side one concludes with the striking “I Come And Stand At Every Door”, sung from the point of view of a young Hiroshima victim.

Side two starts strong, but runs immediately out of steam. “Eight Miles High” more than delivers on what they picked up from Coltrane, and it’s still quite a striking song today. Contrast this with Crosby’s version of “Hey Joe”; while they were the last of the LA bands to record it, they were among the first to play it, and unfortunately for them, others did it much better. Then there’s “Captain Soul”, a plodding instrumental jam featuring the return of Gene Clark on harmonica. “John Riley” is another Byrds take on a folk song, but this album’s version of the gag finale is given over to “2-4-2 Fox Trot (The Lear Jet Song)”. While it attempts to be “groundbreaking” in its use of sound effects, here the sound of an airplane taking off comes off more like a vacuum cleaner, and the music isn’t much more inspired than “Captain Soul”.

The whole of Fifth Dimension does equal more than the parts, but it’s clear that the pressure to create product without relying on Dylan or Gene Clark songs was a bit much. The bonuses on the updated CD include the B-side “Why”, plus alternates of that and “Eight Miles High” that are pretty intense. “Psychodrama City” is an okay Crosby song that uses too much improvised 12-string, and it’s just as well they didn’t finish “I Know You Rider” for a single. The token instrumental to close out the CD is a chaotic “jazz” take on “John Riley”, and the bulk of the remainder is a hidden vintage open-ended interview with McGuinn and Crosby discussing the hip influences on the album.

The Byrds Fifth Dimension (1966)—3
1996 CD reissue: same as 1966, plus 6 extra tracks

Monkees 1: The Monkees

While there’s no denying that the Monkees were a manufactured pop group, what detractors seem to forget is that some of the music created in the process of fulfilling contractual obligations was pretty good. From the start the people behind the scenes gathered songs from already successful contemporary songwriters, and got to work creating the backing tracks using the cream of LA’s session musicians, the same people who’d been busy playing on records by the likes of Phil Spector, the Beach Boys, the Byrds, the Mamas & The Papas and countless others.

That’s not to suggest that The Monkees is a pop masterpiece; rather to consider just how awful the music written to order for a sitcom designed to capitalize on the Beatles and A Hard Day’s Night could have been. Instead, the producers found four guys who had more than a little charm, and decent singing voices. While some episodes of the TV show can be excruciating to watch today, the album provides a nice snapshot of the times.

Most of the singing is split between the two Monkees with acting experience, Micky Dolenz (who fit the role of the funny guy) and Davy Jones (resident British heartthrob and maraca shaker). Peter Tork (the dumb one who looked like Stephen Stills) didn’t have much to do besides gyrate and emote whilst pretending to play the bass, but in a foreshadowing of what was around the corner, Michael Nesmith (the serious musician, albeit with a ski cap) exerts a certain amount of power, writing and producing two country-influenced songs. One of those was a collaboration with Gerry Goffin and Carole King, who contributed other songs as well.

The bulk of the remainder were written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, a duo who’d slowly been making their way through the pop industry. What they came up with for the Monkees could have been performed by anyone of the time who’d been influenced by the Beatles. “Last Train To Clarksville” combines a great riff with layered harmonies over seventh chords, and a deserved #1 hit. “I Wanna Be Free” was also tried in an electric version for the TV show, but the acoustic album cut was slathered in strings for Davy to sing, in the footsteps of “Yesterday” and “As Tears Go By”. “Gonna Buy Me A Dog” is included in a jokey take that actually improved the song. “Let’s Dance On” manages to cram in several references to obsolete dance moves, and today sounds like a selection from That Thing You Do!

The Rhino label now owns the trademark to the Monkees name, and has never missed an opportunity to cash in on their investment. Their first expanded CD reissue of The Monkees added only a few tracks, but the later two-disc version included the album in both mono and stereo, with various alternate takes and songs that had been heard on the show, but not included on the album. To make things even more annoying for the collector, the eventual Super Deluxe Edition didn’t include all of the extras on each of the previous editions, choosing instead to load up one disc with session outtakes. Perhaps to balance those backing tracks with zero Monkee input, the third disc offers Davy’s 1965 solo album in mono and stereo, plus six early “Michael Blessing” tracks. Proceed with caution, or not.

The Monkees The Monkees (1966)—3
1994 reissue CD: same as 1966, plus 3 extra tracks
2006 Deluxe Edition: same as 1994, plus 25 extra tracks
2014 Super Deluxe Edition: same as 1966, plus 88 extra tracks

Love 1: Love

Hindsight has been very kind to the band known as Love, more so than when they started out. Despite being one of the best live bands on the Sunset Strip, various coincidences led them to be overshadowed by the likes of the Byrds and even their own labelmates, the Doors. It’s too bad, because for the time they were pretty unique, boasting a racially integrated lineup capable of swapping instruments. In the decades since, the band has achieved cult status, giving the original members a last moment in the spotlight.

None of their albums boasted a consistent lineup, but the first three come close. Love is a wonderful collection of garage rock, a mix of Byrds jangle and proto-punk, driven by slightly out-of-tune guitars and a prominent bass (this being the era when engineers were still trying to figure out how to record the instrument properly). While Johnny Echols plays lead and rhythm guitarist Bryan MacLean sings one of his own songs, from the beginning it’s Arthur Lee who’s clearly in charge, writing and singing the bulk of the material, and only adding harmonica here and there.

Their defiant deconstruction of Burt Bacharach’s “My Little Red Book” gives only an indication of what the band can do, matching an atonal riff to the straighter chorus. “Can’t Explain” crosses the Who with the Byrds, with a hint of the doomed lyrics soon to become Arthur’s trademark. One of his better tunes is “A Message To Pretty”, a deceptively sweet kiss-off, the last chord of which hangs in for the setup of “My Flash On You”, itself a foreshadowing of their version of “Hey Joe” on side two. Bryan MacLean’s “Softly To Me” provides a tender contrast, working well in the dialogue before Arthur’s less angry “No Matter What You Do”. The band gets a few moments to jam on “Emotions”, a half-speed surf instrumental that functions as intermission music.

“You I’ll Be Following” brings us back to the garage, with its wordplay and inside references. “Gazing” is textbook folk-rock, their attempt at writing a Dylan song as covered by the Byrds. Possibly the most striking track is “Signed D.C.”, a harrowing portrait of an acid casualty, and one wonders if the Moody Blues heard this before recording “Nights In White Satin”. “Colored Balls Falling” barely gets started before fading after the guitar solo, giving more time to the gentle yet apocalyptic “Mushroom Clouds”. “And More” sums up the album’s sound with more suspended chords.

The similarity between several of the songs notwithstanding, Love remains an engaging listen. Fourteen tracks are a lot for a new band, and they deliver on each. These days it’s only available as an iTunes download, which includes two bonus tracks: the silly B-side “No. Fourteen” and an alternate take of “Signed D.C.” Both are also included on the excellent 2001 Elektra Classic import CD, alongside the complete album in mono and stereo.

Love Love (1966)—4
Current CD availability: none; download only

Bob Dylan 42: Live 1966

Live bootlegs as we now know them got their start when tapes of Bob Dylan’s controversial British tour in 1966 began circulating—particularly the one inaccurately known as the Royal Albert Hall show. For years, this concert gained notoriety both for its performance as well as the audience’s response, and Bob’s reaction therewith. In the wake of the major success of Time Out Of Mind, Dylan finally allowed its official release 32 years later as part of the dormant Bootleg Series.

Disc one consists of Bob, his harmonica, acoustic guitar and transcendent versions of seven classics, three of which would have been new to the audience. From “She Belongs To Me” through “4th Time Around” and “Visions Of Johanna”, past “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” and “Desolation Row” to “Just Like A Woman” and a lengthy “Mr. Tambourine Man”, it’s a positively hypnotic performance. His playing never falters, and his grasp on all those words he had to remember is spot on.

Disc two is where the trouble started: he was backed here by the guys who later became the Band (featuring this guy on drums), and they played hard, mean, and loud despite the angry protests of the folk purists in the crowd. The opener, the otherwise unreleased “Tell Me, Momma”, rumbles into place amid trebly guitars, an explosive snare and wheezy organ. “I Don’t Believe You” is transformed from something of a jaunty comedy number to a near-pop song, with a prominent riff and a fantastic guitar and organ solo section. “Baby Let Me Follow You Down” is similarly kicked up a notch, as is “One Too Many Mornings”, from folk to rock. “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues”, “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat” and “Ballad Of A Thin Man” are delivered much as you’d expect from their album versions (and that’s Bob playing piano on the latter). But it’s “Like A Rolling Stone” that gets all the attention, starting with the cry of “Judas” from the crowd, Bob’s startled reaction and the defiant performance that follows.

The sound on Live 1966 is as good as it gets, and as a historical document, the general public can finally hear what caused all the fuss and fueled an industry of mysterious records, but spurred the release of later, lackluster Dylan live albums. The dynamic of the musicians’ influence can still be experienced today, and not just in bands like the Wallflowers. (Anytime you see electric guitars with piano and organ, it all started here.) Best of all, it gave us hope that the Bootleg Series wasn’t finite.

Fifty years after the occasion, the release of what was called The Real Royal Albert Hall 1966 Concert was a nice idea, except that it was actually the first of two shows played at that venue. While good, it’s the second one, the one that closed the tour, with extended monologues between songs that drip with both contempt and pharmaceuticals, that is more “historic”. That could now be got legally, but only as part of the 36-CD The 1966 Live Recordings, which gathered every known document of the shows on that chaotic tour. The cumulative effect is akin to listening to the same album 18 times, sometimes in pristine sound, other times through a broken drive-in speaker. Whether any of these are preferable to the “Judas” show is up to the listener with the patience to compare them all.

Still, some highlights of those other shows include: cough-free renditions of “Mr. Tambourine Man”, which spiral out to great lengths depending on the multi-minute harmonica breaks; variations of a long prologue to “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” wherein the painter gets older each time; people actually chuckling at the lyrics of “4th Time Around”; commenting on extended tuning jags with remarks that he doesn’t have such issues with his electric guitar; and actual audience cheers of recognition, of even the electric songs. One can now track the evolving lyrics of “Tell Me, Momma”, which never approached a finished set, and hear Bob’s creeping exhaustion as the dates drag on, culminating in the introduction of the band members by name at the final Albert Hall show. And why was “Like A Rolling Stone” dedicated to the Taj Mahal, anyway?

Bob Dylan Live 1966: The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert—The Bootleg Series Vol. 4 (1998)—5
Bob Dylan The Real Royal Albert Hall 1966 Concert (2016)—3½
Bob Dylan The 1966 Live Recordings (2016)—3

Rolling Stones 8: Got Live If You Want It!

While anxiously waiting for the next real Stones album, the band’s American label took a hint as well as a title from a British EP. While three of those tracks had already been scattered on a couple of U.S.-only albums, the band were convinced to record a few shows on their current British tour for a full-length live album. And just like that, Got Live If You Want It! happened.

Well, not exactly. While the sources for the recordings used have been documented, many of the tracks sound just too clean to be really, really live. The technology to capture each of the instruments, microphones and drums on a stage, usually through a crappy PA system, as clear as they sound here simply didn’t exist yet. And when you add in all those screaming girls, the math just doesn’t work out.

That said, the band does display energy, especially Charlie, who drives “Under My Thumb”, complete with that post-chorus tag they’d still use in 1969, right into “Get Off Of My Cloud”. The momentum crashes for a sadly out-of-tune “Lady Jane”, so maybe this really was captured live on stage in front of an adoring audience. And when was the last time you heard an electric dulcimer? Proof of studio trickery does exist, however, as both “I’m Loving You Too Long” and “Fortune Teller” were studio tracks doctored with screams to sound live just for this album. (The originals of both can be found today on More Hot Rocks.)

Speaking of trickery, somebody had the bright idea to start side two with a tease of “Satisfaction” before cutting to the actual performance of “The Last Time”. In other words, no, the band did not really goad the audience that way. “19th Nervous Breakdown” is fairly powerful, “Time On My Side” off-pitch, and “Have You Seen Your Mother Baby” really fuzzy and distorted, so maybe it’s just the backing vocals that were touched up. “I’m Alright” is different from the one on the EP (and Out Of Our Heads here), and still an odd way to kill two minutes mid-show. “Satisfaction” fades before the audience does, who keep screaming through the “God Save The Queen” recording piped through the theater at the end.

Because it was part of the original American canon, Got Live If You Want It! is available for purchase today, with only slightly less atrocious sound than before. If anything, it proves that the Stones tradition of pushing a questionable live album on the unsuspecting public wasn’t their idea in the first place. You really can skip it. (Of slightly more interest, historically anyway, is the exclusive CD added to the box set of the Charlie Is My Darling DVD, which pulls a standard setlist from the March 1965 shows that had been mined for the British EP, as well as two songs on the US LP. While this was three months before “Satisfaction” was released, there’s still a lot of screaming, but they were still a solid R&B combo, relying on covers.)

The Rolling Stones Got Live If You Want It! (1966)—2

Rolling Stones 7: Aftermath

Aftermath is the first “real” Stones album, the one that showcases the band as we would come to accept them. All the songs are credited to Jagger-Richards (whether or not they were the actual writers). Brian Jones, having lost his power to keep them strictly a blues band, stretches out on several exotic instruments. And Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts keep everything tied down in the back.

Of course, the misogyny is out in full force; Mick did have an image to keep, after all. The opening notes of “Paint It, Black” hint at the current Indian influence before giving way to the blatant nastiness of “Stupid Girl”. Brian shines again on “Lady Jane”, contributing the dulcimer and probably the harpsichord. It’s a very gentle song, until you pay attention to the lyrics. Brian’s marimbas drive “Under My Thumb”, another cruel song still played by the band today. “Doncha Bother Me” is a successful marriage of Chicago blues and swinging London. “Think” features several guitar parts, from the strummed acoustic to the “Satisfaction” fuzz tone; an underrated track.

“Flight 505” starts the second side with a boogie piano solo from sixth Stone Ian Stewart before turning into an otherwise ordinary song with a trick ending worthy of Pete Townshend. “High And Dry” is a country blues that sounds like it was written five minutes before it was recorded. They would do this style better in the future. “It’s Not Easy” isn’t much, but “I Am Waiting” is the hidden gem here, a fine example of mid-‘60s British chamber pop and a killer bridge. The mood turns completely with “Goin’ Home”, a track notorious for being rock ‘n roll’s first lengthy album track. Unfortunately, Mick can’t sustain us over the eleven-plus minutes here; he’d learn the secret of dynamics soon enough.

Aftermath is the Stones learning how to compete on the album charts in an era when fans wanted more substance for their dollar. The British version, which came out a couple of months earlier with a different cover and different tracks (naturally), offered even more value, clocking 53 minutes against the 42 on the American. Somebody at ABKCO understood this album’s importance, as both the US and UK versions are available today on CD, should you wish to compare them.

The Rolling Stones Aftermath (1966)—3

Rolling Stones 6: Big Hits

In two years’ time, the Stones had released five albums in America, compared to three in the UK (where there were more songs exclusive to EPs and 45s). These had some great tracks and actual hit singles, of course, but with the possible exception of their debut, those LPs were increasingly chaotic, with arbitrary sequencing and consisting of a strange menu of covers, tentative songwriting attempts and incongruous “live” recordings punctuated by screaming girls. And for the completist, several but not all of those B-sides and EP tracks were scattered throughout, leaving little continuity. In that time they’d also evolved from an R&B combo to actual competition to the Beatles in the songwriting category.

So in many ways their first “great” album, and a much better place to soak up all the history up to 1966, is Big Hits (High Tide And Green Grass). This collection brings together practically all the snotty songs we love: “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”, “The Last Time”, “Get Off Of My Cloud”, “19th Nervous Breakdown” and so forth. A few not-quite-hits like “Tell Me”, “Play With Fire” and “Good Times, Bad Times” and key covers including “Not Fade Away”, “Time Is On My Side” (here in its “guitar intro” incarnation) and “It’s All Over Now” round out the set, and if you’re feeling sensitive, there’s always “As Tears Go By”. The LP even came with a full-size booklet of dreamy photos. (Naturally, the British version, which came out eight months later, had different tracks and a different cover.)

If you love the Stones, you’re going to want those first five albums anyway. But for a starting point, Big Hits (High Tide And Green Grass) does the job well. And there’s nary a clunker in the set.

The Rolling Stones Big Hits (High Tide And Green Grass) (1966)—5