The Standells made number 11 in 1966 with "Dirty Water," an archetypal garage rock hit with its Stonesish riff, lecherous vocal, and combination of raunchy guitar and organ. While they never again reached the Top Forty, they cut a number of strong, similar tunes in the 1966-67 era that have belated been recognized as '60s punk classics. "Garage... [+] Read More

The Standells made number 11 in 1966 with "Dirty Water," an archetypal garage rock hit with its Stonesish riff, lecherous vocal, and combination of raunchy guitar and organ. While they never again reached the Top Forty, they cut a number of strong, similar tunes in the 1966-67 era that have belated been recognized as '60s punk classics. "Garage rock" may not have been a really accurate term for them in the first place, as the production on their best material was full and polished, with some imaginative touches of period psychedelia and pop.

The Los Angeles band were actually hardly typical of the young suburban outfits across America who took their raw garage sound onto obscure singles recorded in small studios. They'd been playing L.A. clubs since the early '60s, with a repertoire that mostly consisted of covers of pre-Beatle rock hits. Drummer (and eventual lead singer) Dick Dodd had been a Mouseketeer on television, organist Larry Tamblyn was the brother of noted film actor Russ Tamblyn, and Tony Valentino was a recent immigrant from Italy. Gary Leeds (later to join the Walker Brothers) was an early member (though he was replaced by Dodd).

The Standells' pre-"Dirty Water" history is a little vague and confusing; they recorded some ordinary albums and singles for Liberty, MGM, and Vee Jay, appeared in the movie Get Yourself a College Girl, and did a lot of television work (most notably a well-remembered guest appearance on The Munsters, where they did a woeful version of "I Want to Hold Your Hand"). There were flashes of gritty inspiration on early cuts like "Big Boss Man" and "Someday You'll Cry," but the group didn't really hit their stride until teaming up with producer Ed Cobb, formerly of the clean-cut vocal group the Four Preps. It was Cobb who wrote "Dirty Water," which marked quite a change of direction from their previous clean-cut image. In fact, the group didn't even like the song, which took about six months to break into a hit.

Their image now considerably toughened, the group churned out four albums in 1966 and 1967, as well as appearing in (and contributing the theme song to) the psychedelic exploitation movie Riot on Sunset Strip. Cobb, in addition to writing "Dirty Water," also penned their other most enduring singles, including "Sometimes Good Guys Don't Wear White," "Why Pick on Me," and 'Try It" (the last of which was widely banned for its suggestive delivery). The group did write some decent material of their own, such as the tense "Riot on Sunset Strip," and the psychedelic "All Fall Down," which bears an interesting similarity to some of Pink Floyd's early work. Their albums were quite inconsistent -- in fact, one of them, consisting of covers of big mid-'60s hits, was altogether dispensable -- which makes it advisable for all but the truly committed to look for greatest hits compilations that selectively weed out the best stuff.

The Standells never had a stable lineup; bass players were constantly leaving (John Fleck, aka John Fleckenstein, who was briefly in an early version of Love, held the spot for a while), and Dick Dodd went solo in 1968, the year they released their last single. Tower, as was the case with most of its artists, didn't apply intelligent long-range planning to the band's career, issuing too many albums at once. The group didn't help their own cause by issuing an awful vaudeville-rock single, "Don't Tell Me What to Do," under the transparent pseudonym of the Sllednats. They didn't record after 1968, though the group dragged on in one form or another until the early '70s (Lowell George was even a member briefly). ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

It only took one song, the organ-driven number one smash "96 Tears," to make ? & the Mysterians into garage rock legends. Eccentric frontman Question Mark (actually spelled "?," once he had his name legally changed) cultivated an aura of mystery by never appearing in public without a pair of wraparound sunglasses; he frequently claimed he had... [+] Read More

It only took one song, the organ-driven number one smash "96 Tears," to make ? & the Mysterians into garage rock legends. Eccentric frontman Question Mark (actually spelled "?," once he had his name legally changed) cultivated an aura of mystery by never appearing in public without a pair of wraparound sunglasses; he frequently claimed he had been born on Mars and lived among the dinosaurs in a past life, and that voices from the future had revealed he would be performing "96 Tears" in the year 10,000. On a more earthly level, the Mysterians' sound helped lay down an important part of the garage rock blueprint, namely the low-budget sci-fi feel of the Farfisa and Vox organs (most assumed that "96 Tears" had featured the former, but ? later remembered using the latter). What was more, they were one of the first Latino rock groups to have a major hit, and ?'s sneering attitude made him one of the prime suspects in the evolution of garage rock into early punk.

The Mysterians were formed in 1962 by bassist Larry Borjas, his cousin, guitarist Bobby Balderrama, and drummer Robert Martinez; they soon added vocalist ? (the general consensus is that he was actually Rudy Martinez, Robert's brother, though a few sources identified him as Reeto Rodriguez) and organist Frank Rodriguez. By most accounts, all the musicians were born in Texas, of Mexican descent, and grew up in Michigan in the Saginaw/Bay City area. Taking their name from a Japanese science fiction film, the band played its first gigs in the small Michigan town of Adrian in 1964, and soon moved its home base from Saginaw to Flint. Larry Borjas and Robert Martinez were both forced to leave the band for military duty, and were replaced by bassist Frank Lugo and the Martinez brothers' brother-in-law, drummer Eddie Serrato. Shortly afterward, ? wrote the lyrics a song he called "Too Many Teardrops" and showed them to the rest of the band; the title was changed first to "69 Tears," and then the less suggestive "96 Tears." The song became a hit at the Mt. Holly ski lodge/dancehall, where the band played regularly, and in early 1966 they recorded it for the small local label Pa-Go-Go, owned by the band's manager. It became a regional hit in Flint and Detroit, attracting interest from several major record companies; ? decided to sign with the Philadelphia-based Cameo-Parkway, chiefly because their label was his favorite color, orange.

Now blessed with national distribution, "96 Tears" raced up the pop charts and went all the way to number one in the fall of 1966, becoming one of garage rock's all-time classics. The band's first album, naturally also titled 96 Tears, was released by the end of the year, as was its follow-up single, "I Need Somebody," which just missed the Top 20. Released in early 1967, "Can't Get Enough of You Baby" was a minor hit, but the group's second album, Action, sold disappointingly; moreover, Cameo-Parkway was experiencing financial difficulties, and was later taken over by ABKCO chief Allen Klein. The Mysterians departed, recording singles for Capitol in 1968 and Tangerine and Super K in 1969, to no commercial avail (during this period, bassist Mel Schacher served a short stint in the group prior to joining Grand Funk Railroad). They also cut an album for Ray Charles' TRC label that went unreleased.

? regrouped the band in the early '70s and tried again, recording singles for Chicory in 1972 and Luv in 1973 to no response. Bobby Balderrama formed a short-lived band called Inflight during the '70s, and ? left music to become a dog breeder. ? & the Mysterians reconvened in 1978 to cut some demos with producer Kim Fowley, and played a reunion concert in Dallas in 1984, the tapes of which were later released by ROIR; that year they also opened some gigs for Tex-Mex rocker Joe "King" Carrasco. In 1997, ? was directed by the voices he heard from the future to reunite the group again, with a lineup of Balderrama, Rodriguez, Lugo, and brother Robert. Since Allen Klein refused to reissue any of the group's original recordings (or even license "96 Tears" for compilations -- hence its absence from Rhino's mostly comprehensive garage rock box set Nuggets), they re-recorded their debut album for Collectables and released it as Question Mark & the Mysterians. In 1998, they issued a live album on Norton Records, Do You Feel It Baby?, that was recorded at Coney Island High and received warmly by their cult fan base of garage rock aficionados. 1999 brought the release of another, somewhat better-produced two-disc set of re-recordings, More Action, this time released on Cavestomp (it was later condensed into the 2001 single-disc release Feel It!: The Very Best of Question Mark & the Mysterians). Meanwhile, Balderrama formed the Robert Lee Band, a blues outfit that played around Michigan and recorded an eponymous album for the local Bullfrog label. Unfortunately, there remains no official CD release of the Mysterians' original recordings. ~ Steve Huey, All Music Guide [-] Hide

The Small Faces were the best English band never to hit it big in America. On this side of the Atlantic, all anybody remembers them for is their sole stateside hit, "Itchycoo Park," which was hardly representative of their psychedelic sound, much less their full musical range -- but in England, the Small Faces were one of the most extraordinary... [+] Read More

The Small Faces were the best English band never to hit it big in America. On this side of the Atlantic, all anybody remembers them for is their sole stateside hit, "Itchycoo Park," which was hardly representative of their psychedelic sound, much less their full musical range -- but in England, the Small Faces were one of the most extraordinary and successful bands of the mid-'60s, serious competitors to the Who and potential rivals to the Rolling Stones.

Lead singer/guitarist Steve Marriott's formal background was on the stage; as a young teenager, he'd auditioned for and won the part of the Artful Dodger in the Lionel Bart musical Oliver! Marriott was earning his living at a music shop when he made the acquaintance of Ronnie Lane (bass, backing vocals), who had formed a band called the Pioneers, which included drummer Kenney Jones. Lane invited Marriott to jam with his band at a show they were playing at a local club -- the gig was a disaster, but out of that show the group members decided to turn their talents toward American R&B. The band -- with Marriott now installed permanently and Jimmy Winston recruited on organ -- cast its lot with a faction of British youth known as the mods, stylish posers (and arch enemies of the leather-clad rockers, sometimes with incredibly violent results) who, among their other attributes, affected a dandified look and a fanatical embrace of American R&B. The quartet, now christened the Small Faces ("face" being a piece of mod slang for a fashion leader), began making a name for themselves on-stage, sparked by their no holds barred performance style. Marriott had a uniquely powerful voice and was also a very aggressive lead guitarist, and the others were able to match him, especially Jones, who was a truly distinctive drummer.

The quartet was signed by manager Don Arden who, through his management company, got the Small Faces a record deal with Decca/London. The band's debut single, "What'cha Gonna Do About It," a blatant ripoff of Solomon Burke's "Everybody Needs Somebody to Love," co-credited in this version to longtime British songwriter/producer Ian Samwell, was released in August of 1965 and reached number 14 on the charts; a second single, "I've Got Mine," failed to chart when released in November. Soon after its recording, Winston exited the lineup; he was replaced by Ian McLagan (organ, guitar, vocals). The group returned to the charts in February of 1966 with "Sha-La-La-La-Lee," which rose to number three in England. Three months later, they were back at number ten with "Hey Girl," a Marriott/Lane composition that inaugurated the songwriting team, a development strongly encouraged by their manager, who appreciated the enhanced earnings that original hits enjoyed. This single heralded their first album, a rather hastily recorded long-player entitled Small Faces. Their real breakthrough came with the next single, another Marriott/Lane original, entitled "All or Nothing," which topped the U.K. charts in the course of a ten-week run. Its follow-up, "My Mind's Eye," was successful as well, but its release infuriated the bandmembers, because as far as they were concerned, it was unfinished -- they'd furnished a demo to Arden who, in turn, had turned it over to Decca as a finished piece, and the latter had released it.

That release brought to a head the group's growing alienation from their manager, over his handling of their business affairs and bookings, as well as their relations with Decca. Despite their string of five hits, Arden was treating the group as a nonrenewable resource, booking them too many shows -- as many as three a night -- as though they had no future and had to earn fees while the fees were being offered. This, in turn, prevented Marriott and Lane from exploring their full potential as songwriters, and in 1966, with albums like Rubber Soul and Revolver emanating from the Beatles and Aftermath from the Rolling Stones, songwriting was becoming an essential activity for any band that could do it. Further, the group had evolved both musically and intellectually from their beginnings -- by the spring of 1966, in place of the occasional weed or amphetamine (the latter an essential part of the mod lifestyle), they'd begun experimenting with LSD and, like many other artists, found their work and sensibilities altered by it -- they could still do the soul numbers on-stage, and write passages in that vein for themselves to play and sing, but the subject matter of their songs, even when they did concern love, became decidedly more complex and experimental, along with their sound.

This is where Arden and Decca Records' treatment of them really began to grate on the bandmembers, because their manager didn't feel like budgeting for anything more than the standard, union-dictated three-hour sessions with breaks, hopefully yielding at least a song per session, and they had songs in mind now, and sounds to go with them, that were too bold to be worked out in three hours. Despite four hit singles to their credit, they'd been given less time to complete their debut LP than the Rolling Stones -- who'd abandoned Decca's studios, with their iron-clad union rules and engineers who wouldn't let them play at full volume, in favor of RCA Studios in Hollywood -- usually got to complete one of their singles. And, finally, between the recording costs at Decca and Arden's way of handling their finances, the Small Faces weren't seeing much money, considering their chart successes to date.

By the end of 1966, the Small Faces had severed their ties with Arden which, in effect, ended their relationship with Decca (though the two sides would argue and debate that point for a while), and in early 1967 moved under the wing of Rolling Stones manager/producer Andrew Loog Oldham. At the time, Oldham was one of the top three or four producers in England, thanks to his work with the Stones (and a few other acts such as Marianne Faithfull), and his management of that group was considered one of the most successful business relationships in pop music. Oldham had started his own label, Immediate Records, which was so far devoted to a few licensed American masters, the work of promising neophytes, and a few unwitting contributions by star guitarists -- including Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck -- who thought they were cutting demos and jamming with producer/guitarist Jimmy Page. Getting the Small Faces as clients was the first step to getting them onto his label, thereby providing the label with the anchor of a proven hitmaking outfit (the Rolling Stones were locked into their Decca Records contract and, in any case, usually seemed to keep themselves at arm's length from Immediate's activities, beyond any informal obligations they felt they owed Oldham). By mid-1967 he had succeeded in doing precisely that, signing the group to Immediate -- and with the shift in management and label, the Small Faces suddenly found themselves with a drastically reduced touring schedule and vastly increased time available in the studio, and their sound immediately became looser.

They started things off of just right for the new era with one of the most quietly subversive drug anthems ever to tiptoe its way into the U.K. charts, "Here Comes the Nice." A cheerful, unassuming ode to a drug dealer, it somehow escaped the notice of censors and became one of the finest above-board expressions of appreciation for recreational drug use of its era. There were other drug songs to follow, including "Green Circles," that ended up on their albums -- they remained a top-flight R&B-driven band, but a much wider array of sounds and instruments began figuring in their music. Their first Immediate album, entitled Small Faces (known in the U.S., where it was released somewhat belatedly through Columbia Records' distribution, as There Are But Four Small Faces), was issued in mid-1967, and was an instant hit. In August of that year, two months after "Here Comes the Nice" wafted its way to the airwaves, they released "Itchycoo Park," a lilting, lyrical idyll to the Summer of Love, loosely based on a hymn known to Ronnie Lane and featuring Marriott in his gentlest vocal guise -- this ode to a psychedelic sunny afternoon captured the hearts of listeners on both sides of the Atlantic and became the Small Faces' sole claim to fame in the United States.

Ironically, although they were always glad to have a hit, the bandmembers weren't entirely pleased with the single's success, because they felt the song didn't represent their true sound, and it was also extremely difficult to play on-stage, owing to its acoustic guitar sound and varied musical textures. What's more, the band had bigger aspirations than doing more hit singles -- the Beatles' success with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band had set the album up as the new primary medium for musical expression, and they were eager to get to work on a canvas that size. Across five months during 1968, in at least four different studios, they recorded what proved to be their magnum opus, Ogden's Nut Gone Flake. A mix of Cockney whimsy, spoken word recitations (courtesy of actor/recitalist Stanley Unwin), hard rock, blue-eyed soul, and druggy freakbeat sensibilities, it was probably the most English and the most ambitious of the concept albums that followed in the wake of Sgt. Pepper's, and further enticed potential purchasers (and confounded record distributors and retailers, not to mention American listeners totally unfamiliar with the actual Ogden's tobacco tins) with its round-sleeve-in-a-square-frame packaging.

The resulting album -- which the group only performed in its entirety once (although numbers like "Rollin' Over" became permanent parts of their stage set), in a live-in-the-studio television broadcast called Colour Me Pop -- was a critical and commercial success, and has received new cycles of rave reviews across the decades since. The group's fortunes didn't match the reception for the album, however -- in June of 1968, to announce the release of the album, Immediate took out an ad in the music trade papers that included a parody of the Lord's Prayer that managed to offend several million people before an apology from the band was issued. Their relationship with Immediate was further strained when, over the objections of Marriott, the label released the song "Lazy Sunday" -- which he'd recorded as a joke -- as a single. Its subsequent rise to number two on the British charts did nothing to ease his unhappiness, as the record really had nothing to do with the band's real sound. Their previous single, "Tin Soldier" -- which was a hit as well -- was much more what they were about, a love song mixing wrenchingly soulful vocals by Marriott and almost psychedelic sensibilities in the lyrics, with a dazzling, pounding, driving performance by McLagan at the keyboard.

The group members were also beginning to have their doubts about Oldham and Immediate. The producer/manager had parted company with the Rolling Stones in mid-1967, with the result that the Small Faces became the creative core of the label (and the sole cash cow in Oldham's orbit). Whereas the Mick Jagger/Keith Richards songwriting team had contributed songs to some early Immediate acts, suddenly Marriott and Lane were being asked to come up with songs and serve as producers, which would have been OK except that, even with a fresh string of hit singles and a pair of LPs that sold well, they were getting no royalties -- Immediate was keeping much of what their recordings earned, all charged against their studio time at very high rates, though the group was at least getting more money from fewer but much better-paying gigs. The reality of the record business is that, to some extent, every label pads the books -- as in the film industry, where expenses from box office bombs, or for ordinary day-to-day operations, somehow manage to get written off against the revenue generated by the hits, the record labels all manage to shift some losses to money-making acts' fees. The problem for the Small Faces was that they were the only money-making act on Immediate. Everything else was hit or miss (and most often miss), some records by the Nice at one point and some early singles by P.P. Arnold and some American-licensed sides by the McCoys, Van Morrison, et al., succeeding, but most losing money.

And the label itself literally hemorrhaged money, in ways that paralleled the debacle at Apple Records. In one of the more famous anecdotes, attributed to various artists under contract and also to former employees, the typical daily operation went like this: artists and would-be artists hanging out and major stars popping in and out, and then at 4 p.m. or so Oldham would arrive in a limo, dressed in a kaftan and sandals, accompanied by an entourage, and his business partner, Tony Calder, would show up separately, go into the office, look at the bills, and start muttering about breaking people's legs. The Small Faces' royalties mostly vanished into that black hole up until the inevitable bankruptcy, and then simply vanished for 30 years.

"The Universal," a single released in the summer of 1968, was to have been Marriott's most serious effort in that vein in over a year, incorporating a more laid-back, quasi-acoustic, and jazz-like sound (complete with clarinet accompaniment) and his most subtle, serious lyrics, in contrast to the jocular "Lazy Sunday"; it subsequently failed to crack the Top 20, and much of his interest in continuing with the band seemed to falter as a result. The group worked on a planned third Immediate LP and continued to tour (Immediate even recorded one of their live sets from Newcastle Town Hall early in the year, which showed a band as good as any in England), and Marriott tried to institute some changes -- he even proposed that a new friend, singer/guitarist Peter Frampton, a teen idol who had lately quit a successful pop/rock band called the Herd in a quest to be taken more seriously as an artist, be brought into the Small Faces lineup, but the others were content to continue as a quartet. The end came soon after, in the final hours of 1968, when Marriott suddenly left the stage while the band was jamming to "Lazy Sunday" during a show at the Alexandria Palace; within hours, he and Frampton began mapping plans for a band of their own called Humble Pie, bringing aboard Greg Ridley on bass and Jerry Shirley -- a Marriott musical protégé, Kenney Jones admirer, and former member of a Small Faces-influenced band called the Apostolic Intervention -- on drums. The Small Faces did carry on into 1969, and Immediate tried to salvage its situation by issuing a double-LP career retrospective called The Autumn Stone, which made it out a few months before the company closed its doors.

With Marriott gone, the group needed a replacement singer and lead guitarist and divided up the two jobs, finding artists to fill them in Rod Stewart and Ron Wood. Immediate having sunk below the waves in a sea of long-delayed bankruptcy proceedings, the new group moved to the much bigger and more stable auspices of Warner Bros. Records; the name "Small Faces" endured, attached to one Warner album before they officially morphed into the Faces, an incarnation under which they went on to international glory for a time, before Rod Stewart finally eclipsed them as a solo act. During the mid-'70s, the Small Faces reunited (with a somewhat limited participation by Lane) for two albums, Playmates and 78 in the Shade, that attracted a lot of press attention but nothing resembling the chart action of their earlier releases, and, like their 1960s work, those records failed to find an audience in America, despite being released on Atlantic Records. Ironically, at the very same time, the charts and the press on both sides of the Atlantic were filled by punk and power pop acts whose respective sounds and images often owed a huge amount to the Small Faces' groundbreaking work.

Lane recorded with Pete Townshend, among others, before contracting multiple sclerosis, which ended his career as a musician (he later organized the ARMS benefit concerts to raise money for research toward a cure for the disease). Jones subsequently joined the Who, having been recommended by Keith Moon as his replacement ahead of the legendary drummer's sudden death in 1978, and did a couple of tours and a pair of albums with the band. Humble Pie became bigger in America than the Small Faces had ever been with their brand of high-energy rock & roll, which soon alienated co-founder Frampton but led to massive sales and an enviable string of tours, until their breakup in 1975. Steve Marriott's career languished a bit in the years that followed, but he always seemed poised for a comeback -- with that voice and history, he was always a potential contender for stardom -- and in 1991 it looked as though he was going to finally pull it off. Alas, he died in his sleep when fire swept his home in England, tragically just a couple of days after beginning work on a new album in America with his former bandmate Frampton. Ronnie Lane died at his home in Trinidad, CO, on June 4, 1997, after battling multiple sclerosis for nearly 20 years. In 1998, Ian McLagan -- who'd gone on from the Faces to record and perform with Bonnie Raitt, the Rolling Stones, et al. -- published All the Rage, a very frank and revealing autobiography covering his 35 years in professional music.

The Small Faces' catalog languished for a time, largely as a result of the bankruptcy of Immediate Records in 1970. Some of their stuff was reissued on vinyl in Canada in the early- to mid-'70s, and later on reissue labels such as Compleat, but their legacy was generally in a shambles. That wasn't helped in the early part of the CD era when the licensors of the Immediate catalog sent out a lot of substandard masters, made from sources a long way from first-generation studio tapes, to their clients. In 1990, Sony Music Special Products became the first label to reissue any part of the Small Faces' catalog mastered from decent tapes, utilizing the duplicate masters that Immediate had furnished to Columbia Records -- the predecessor to Sony -- in the late '60s. The results were better, if not ideal, but eventually, a combination of consumer complaints and better vault research in England, coupled with better digital technology, led to major improvements in their CD library; anything dating from much after 1995 is acceptable by early 21st century standards, and some of the 2002/2003 issues from Sunspots sound amazing.

At the same time, that tape research led to a massive amount of confusion -- evidently, in order to drive up fees from Columbia in America and other 1960s licensees, Immediate issued undubbed backing tracks and unfinished outtakes with newly attached titles; even the surviving bandmembers were confused by some of these titles and tracks, though as of 2003 they were helping to sort out their real legacy, including a set of live television appearances released by NMC. Additionally, thanks to deals negotiated with the successor labels to Decca and Immediate, with the release of Sanctuary Records' Ultimate Collection in 2003, the members and their estates were collecting full royalties for the very first time. ~ Bruce Eder, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Soft Machine were never a commercial enterprise and indeed still remain unknown even to many listeners who came of age during the late '60s, when the group was at its peak. In their own way, however, they were one of the more influential bands of their era, and certainly one of the most influential underground ones. One of the original... [+] Read More

Soft Machine were never a commercial enterprise and indeed still remain unknown even to many listeners who came of age during the late '60s, when the group was at its peak. In their own way, however, they were one of the more influential bands of their era, and certainly one of the most influential underground ones. One of the original British psychedelic groups, they were also instrumental in the birth of both progressive rock and jazz-rock. They were also the central foundation of the family tree of the "Canterbury Scene" of British progressive rock acts, a movement that also included Caravan, Gong, Matching Mole, and National Health, not to mention the distinguished solo careers of founding members Robert Wyatt and Kevin Ayers.

Considering their well-known experimental and avant-garde leanings, the roots of Soft Machine were in some respects surprisingly conventional. In the mid-'60s, Wyatt sang and drummed with the Wilde Flowers, a Canterbury group that played more or less conventional pop and soul covers of the day. Future Soft Machine members Ayers and Hugh Hopper would also pass through the Wilde Flowers, whose original material began to reflect an odd sensibility, cultivated by their highly educated backgrounds and a passion for improvised jazz. In 1966, Wyatt teamed up with bassist/singer Ayers, keyboardist Mike Ratledge, and Australian guitarist Daevid Allen to form the first lineup of Soft Machine.

This incarnation of the group, along with Pink Floyd and Tomorrow, were the very first underground psychedelic bands in Britain, and quickly became well loved in the burgeoning London psychedelic underground. Their first recordings (many of which only surfaced years later on compilations of 1967 demos) were by far their most pop-oriented, which doesn't mean they weren't exciting or devoid of experimental elements. Surreal wordplay and unusually (for rock) complex instrumental interplay gave an innovative edge to their ebullient early psychedelic outings. They only managed to cut one (very good) single, though, which flopped. Allen, the weirdest of a colorful group of characters, had to leave the band when he was refused reentry into the U.K. after a stint in France, due to the expiration of his visa.

The remaining trio recorded its first proper album in 1968. The considerable melodic elements and vocal harmonies of their 1967 recordings were now giving way to more challenging, artier postures that sought -- sometimes successfully, sometimes not -- to meld the energy of psychedelic rock with the improvisational pulse of jazz. The Softs were taken on by Jimi Hendrix's management, leading to grueling stints supporting the Jimi Hendrix Experience on their 1968 American tours. Because of this, the group at this point was probably more well-known in the U.S. than their homeland. In fact, their debut LP was only issued, oddly, in the States. For a couple of months in 1968, strangely enough, Soft Machine became a quartet again with the addition of future Police guitarist Andy Summers, although that didn't work out, and they soon reverted to a trio. The punishing tours took their toll on the group, and Ayers had left by the end of 1968, to be replaced by Wyatt's old chum Hugh Hopper.

Their second album, Volume Two (1969), further submerged the band's pop elements in favor of extended jazzy compositions, with an increasingly lesser reliance on lyrics and vocals. Ratledge's fuzzy, buzzy organ and Wyatt's pummeling, imaginative drumming and scat vocals paced the band on material that became increasingly whimsical and surrealistic, if increasingly inaccessible to the pop/rock audience. For their third album, they went even further in these directions, expanding to a seven-piece by adding a horn section. This record virtually dispensed with vocals and conventional rock songs entirely, and is considered a landmark by both progressive rock and jazz-rock aficionados, though it was too oblique for many rock listeners.

Soft Machine couldn't afford to continue to support a seven-member lineup, and scaled back to a quartet for their fourth album, retaining Elton Dean on sax. Wyatt had left by the end of 1971, briefly leading the similar Matching Mole, and then establishing a long-running solo career. In doing so he was following the path of Kevin Ayers, who already had several solo albums to his credit by the early '70s; Daevid Allen, for his part, had become a principal of Gong, one of the most prominent and enigmatic '70s progressive rock bands.

For most intents and purposes, Wyatt's departure spelled the end of Soft Machine's reign as an important band. Although Soft Machine was always a collaborative effort, Wyatt's humor, humanism, and soulful raspy vocals could not be replaced. Ratledge and Hopper kept the group going with other musicians, though by now they were an instrumental fusion group with little vestiges of their former playfulness. Hopper left in 1973, and Ratledge, the last original member, was gone by 1976. Other lineups continued to play under the Soft Machine name, amazingly, until the 1990s, but these were Soft Machine in name only. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Best known for their rock & roll standard "Pushin' Too Hard," the Seeds combined the raw, Stonesy appeal of garage rock with a fondness for ragged, trashy psychedelia. And though they never quite matched the commercial peak of their first two singles, "Pushin' Too Hard" and "Can't Seem to Make You Mine," the band continued to record for the... [+] Read More

Best known for their rock & roll standard "Pushin' Too Hard," the Seeds combined the raw, Stonesy appeal of garage rock with a fondness for ragged, trashy psychedelia. And though they never quite matched the commercial peak of their first two singles, "Pushin' Too Hard" and "Can't Seem to Make You Mine," the band continued to record for the remainder of the '60s, eventually delving deep into post-Sgt. Pepper's psychedelia and art rock. None of their new musical directions resulted in another hit single, and the group disbanded at the turn of the decade.

Sky Saxon (born Richard Marsh; vocals) and guitarist Jan Savage formed the Seeds with keyboardist Daryl Hooper and drummer Rick Andridge in Los Angles in 1965. By the end of 1966, they had secured a contract with GNP Crescendo, releasing "Pushin' Too Hard" as their first single. The song climbed into the Top 40 early in 1967, and the group immediately released two sound-alike singles, "Mr. Farmer" and "Can't Seem to Make You Mine," in an attempt to replicate their success; the latter came the closest to being a hit, just missing the Top 40. While their singles were garage punk, the Seeds attempted to branch out into improvisational blues-rock and psychedelia on their first two albums, The Seeds (1966) and Web of Sound (1966). With their third album, Future (1967), the band attempted a psychedelic concept album in the vein of Sgt. Pepper's. While the record reached the Top 100 and spawned the minor hit "A Thousand Shadows," it didn't become a hit. Two other albums -- Raw & Alive: The Seeds in Concert at Merlin's Music Box (1968) and A Full Spoon of Seedy Blues (1969), which was credited to the Sky Saxon Blues Band -- were released at the end of the decade, but both were ignored. The Seeds broke up shortly afterward.

During the early '70s, Saxon led a number of bands before retreating from society and moving to Hawaii. Savage became a member of the Los Angeles Police Department. A collection of rarities and alternate takes, Fallin' off the Edge, was released in 1977. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide [-] Hide

For a little more money, this 21-track CD compilation is a better deal than its American counterpart (One Way's Anthology), offering a slightly more extensive selection and extensive liner notes, and including almost all of the cuts contained on Anthology. Drawn from their four albums (with the accent, properly, on the first two), it also has a... [+] Read More

For a little more money, this 21-track CD compilation is a better deal than its American counterpart (One Way's Anthology), offering a slightly more extensive selection and extensive liner notes, and including almost all of the cuts contained on Anthology. Drawn from their four albums (with the accent, properly, on the first two), it also has a clutch of non-LP singles. "Incense and Peppermints" and the small follow-up hit, "Tomorrow," are by far the best things on here; much of the rest is trendy period pop/psychedelia, sounding at various times like a bush-league Doors, or a really spaced-out Association, with a bit of garage raunch tossed in on the B-side of "Incense" ("The Birdman of Alkatrash"). The two hits were included on Rhino's Nuggets compilations, which might be a better context in which to appreciate the group's fairly minimal contributions to psychedelia. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

At a glance it might be assumed that this is the definitive Nightcrawlers retrospective; after all, it has 24 tracks, by a band that only did a few singles and an album. It does contain everything from their sole LP (also called The Little Black Egg, from 1967) and a few non-LP singles and unreleased cuts. However, there are curious... [+] Read More

At a glance it might be assumed that this is the definitive Nightcrawlers retrospective; after all, it has 24 tracks, by a band that only did a few singles and an album. It does contain everything from their sole LP (also called The Little Black Egg, from 1967) and a few non-LP singles and unreleased cuts. However, there are curious imperfections that prevent this from being a definitive retrospective. The B-side of their first 45, "Marie," isn't here, and more problematically, their 1967 single "My Butterfly"/"Today I'm Happy" is not included, either. Nor does it include the two singles by spin-off band Conlon & the Crawlers. Yes, the back sleeve does note that this has "all the recordings by the original band," which presumably means there was a deliberate decision to exclude all material that did not feature that lineup. The problem is, "My Butterfly" -- an incredibly accurate early Who imitation complete with high harmonies, ringing guitar, and airplane take-off instrumental breaks -- is their best song other than "The Little Black Egg." Both sides of the "My Butterfly" single, and both sides of both Conlon & the Crawlers singles, were included on the Eva LP compilation The Little Black Egg, which had much poorer sound and barely any liner notes (the Big Beat compilation, on the other hand, has a copious group history). The optimum approach would have been to add the 1967 Kapp single and the Conlon & the Crawlers singles in place of the handful of previously unreleased British Invasion/R&B covers that conclude the Big Beat CD. As it is, neither the Eva nor the Big Beat anthologies represent the group's output to collectors' utmost satisfaction, although comments in the liner notes to the Big Beat compilation propose that the missing material is not worthy of comparison to what's heard on this disc. As for what is here, it's mostly pretty thin and forgettable, though periodically engaging, moody garage-folk-rock. ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

More easily available to North Americans than the British Edsel best-of, but not necessarily an improvement. Adds some tracks from both the original lineup and their unimpressive, more pop-oriented singles from the late '60s, and has more comprehensive liner notes, but also omits a few decent covers that are on the U.K. compilation, particularly... [+] Read More

More easily available to North Americans than the British Edsel best-of, but not necessarily an improvement. Adds some tracks from both the original lineup and their unimpressive, more pop-oriented singles from the late '60s, and has more comprehensive liner notes, but also omits a few decent covers that are on the U.K. compilation, particularly their smoking, over-the-top version of "I Just Want to Make Love to You." ~ Richie Unterberger, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Since Traffic's debut album Mr. Fantasy has been issued in different configurations over the years, a history of those differences is in order. In 1967, the British record industry considered albums and singles separate entities; thus, Mr. Fantasy did not contain the group's three previous Top Ten U.K. hits. Just as the album was being released... [+] Read More

Since Traffic's debut album Mr. Fantasy has been issued in different configurations over the years, a history of those differences is in order. In 1967, the British record industry considered albums and singles separate entities; thus, Mr. Fantasy did not contain the group's three previous Top Ten U.K. hits. Just as the album was being released in the U.K., Traffic split from Dave Mason. The album was changed drastically for U.S. release, both because American custom was that singles ought to appear on albums, and because the group sought to diminish Mason's presence; on the first pressing only, the title was changed to Heaven Is in Your Mind. In 2000, Island reissued Mr. Fantasy in its mono mix with the U.K. song list and five mono singles sides as bonus tracks; it also released Heaven Is in Your Mind, the American lineup in stereo with four bonus tracks. Naturally, the mono sound is punchier and more compressed, but it isn't ideal for the album, because Traffic was fashioned as an unusual rock band. Steve Winwood's primary instrument was organ, though he also played guitar; Chris Wood was a reed player, spending most of his time on flute; Mason played guitar, but he was also known to pick up the sitar, among other instruments. As such a mixture suggests, the band's musical approach was eclectic, combining their background in British pop with a taste for the comic and dance-hall styles of Sgt. Pepper, Indian music, and blues-rock jamming. Songs in the last category have proven the most distinctive and long-lasting, but Mason's more pop-oriented contributions remain winning, as do more light-hearted efforts. Interest in the mono mix is likely to be restricted to longtime fans; anyone wishing to hear Traffic's first album for the first time is directed to Heaven Is in Your Mind. ~ William Ruhlmann, All Music Guide [-] Hide

Here's a reissue of the Wailers' Imperial album from the early '60s, after the original version of "Tall Cool One" on Golden Crest had charted once again. Frustrated with their deal with the New York label, the group went into the studio, recut their hit, and packaged it with a brace of loose instrumental workouts and a trio of vocals. One of... [+] Read More

Here's a reissue of the Wailers' Imperial album from the early '60s, after the original version of "Tall Cool One" on Golden Crest had charted once again. Frustrated with their deal with the New York label, the group went into the studio, recut their hit, and packaged it with a brace of loose instrumental workouts and a trio of vocals. One of those vocals is the original Northwest cut of "Louie Louie," featuring an inspired vocal by the legendary Rockin' Robin Roberts, being the version that inspired the Kingsmen and launched a million frat bands worldwide. Another chapter in the history of this very important and influential Northwest rock & roll band. ~ Cub Koda, All Music Guide [-] Hide