NON-SENSE: IN THE MADNESS/STARRY EYED & LAUGHING

In the Madness

I'm going to stick with the sanity and sense delineation, not least as there is seeming so little about of late. And whilst this song may be about the madness of love, let's just enjoy the tune as we rue the madness of life. And, it's a good song isn't it? So what little seam of Laurel Canyon did it seep from, which L.A. valley, which neighbourhood in the SanFran diaspora about? Answer? None.

Lady Came From the South

Starry Eyed and Laughing were a british band of the 1970s. Yes, the 12 string jangle might seem to be that of the Byrds, and, yes, the name is most certainly lifted from a song by Bob Dylan, but it was in unglamorous Bedford, north west of London that the band first came together. And, whilst their roots were as a covers band playing the music of Bob Dylan, the Beatles and the Byrds, it could always be argued the signature instrumental timbre they lifted was that of the Searchers, doyens earlier still of the Rickenbacker electric 12 string sound. Unfortunately success never knocked that hard, and they seemed destined to be part of the ranks of second stringers, permanently second on the bill to the bigger hitters of the day.

Chimes of Freedom

First album, the eponymous SE&L, came out in 1974, and was an agreeable anglo-country-rock jaunt, with additional support from BJ Cole on steel to fill further out the sound. A year later and their second disc dropped, Thought Talk, but even with the weight of CBS records behind them, and a punishing US tour, supporting acts as disparate, with audiences ill-suited and prepared, as Weather Report, the J.Geils Band and Toots and the Maytals, they failed to crack much of a market overseas or at home. Limping on as the abbreviated Starry Eyed, abbreviated also to a 3 piece, they eventually disbanded in 1976.

Flames in the Rain

That might well have been that, but it wasn't. Rumbles of appreciation from longterm fans allowed the belated release of live material and of unreleased material and compilations, dripping out over the past 15 years, and all keeping the flame alive. So then, what of Tony Poole, the 12 string maestro of the group? He moved into production and helmed albums by, amongst others, Steeleye Span and The Men They Couldn't Hang, unsurprisingly both also bands I enjoy and have featured in these pages. However, the performing and writing itch was still extant in him, so it was a delight when I began to hear good words about a new trio, Bennett Wilson Poole. Robin Bennett, Danny Wilson (Grand Drive) and Tony Poole. Despite it being forty odd years since he left the stage lights, Poole is again chiming a glorious jangle based sound. Making a lot of happy men feel very old. And feeling alive.
With somewhat prescient lyrics that might very well fit with the madness of now.

Lifeboat: Bennett Wilson Poole (2018)

Laugh, whilst the nonsense unravels.

HORSE/S: PAUSE FOR A HOARSE HORSE/HOME

Country music has always had a chequered history over here in the UK, there being an understandable suspicion of the more rhinestones and bouffant hair variety that, for so many years, gave even the genre a bad name outside its immediate milieu. Personally it was always the 'and western' that put me off, only many years coming to know and love quite what that might mean, as in western swing. But country-rock, or perhaps as we now should call it, americana, that's a whole different plate of beans. Us brits have taken to that in a big way, both in terms of growing our own and offering a sometimes more sympathetic audience to visitors as they get at home. Todays piece is decidedly too old for americana, being from the early 70s, when bands like Cochise and Starry Eyed and Laughing were adding influences culled from The Byrds and the Burritos.  The pre-punk of pub-rock, the early backlash to the some of the preposterousnesses of prog, saw also a lot of country tropes mixed into the pot, alongside soul and straight ahead rock'n'roll. Brinsley Schwarz, an early home for Nick Lowe, and Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers were frontrunners, influentially if not necessarily in sales. Nowadays there are as many gritty blue collar banjo and steel bands over here as, well, in a short Nashville street. So a few, my favourites being Camden's Rockingbirds. Plus several festivals devoted to the genre.

Home had only a brief window. Resolutely 3rd tier in terms of attainment and success, famous as much for where the members went next as in their own right. The track above comes from their 1971 debut, the sleeve illustration giving a fair idea of where they were hailing from and striving at. I actually bought this at the time, it various surviving culls on my collection, as history re-decided my earlier tastes. However there was clearly a hint of something, the twin guitars of Laurie Wiseman and Mick Stubbs soaring higher than the journeyman songs and vocals, mainly provided by Stubbs.  Bass was provided by one Cliff Williams, yes, that one, and was more adventurous, say, than his later job, with drums and background keys courtesy Mick Cook and Clive John.

A second record followed, the eponymous 'Home', by which time they had ditched John and ploughed, generally, a yet more earnest west coast vibe, if more Outlaws than Eagles, winning over fans from the bands they played support to. But those fans weren't putting their hands in their pockets, and the moment called for a prog-rock concept album, echoing similar bands in similar circumstances, Camel and Wishbone Ash, last gasps of the longhairs before punk blew down the doors. (Of course, history also reminds us that the longhairs never actually went away, just having shorter hair and shorter songs, most continuing to this day.) The Alchemist was the 3rd and last album put together by Home. Stylistically different, it isn't all bad, if desperately dated.

Stubbs left and the remainder of the band toured as Al Stewart's backing band, before going their separate ways. Wisefield joined, arguably appropriately, his guitar style being eminently suitable, the above mentioned Wishbone Ash, Cook joined the Groundhogs and, earlier keyboards man, John was by now with Man. Stubbs, surprisingly, as the songsmith and singer, or possibly because of that, struggled the most, largely disappearing from view. The big ticket fell to Williams, filling the AC/DC bassist role for the next 39 years. A waste of his talent, IMHO, but what do I know, as his accountant might remind me.

Pause.

The early 70s were a bumper time for would be jobbing musicians, record companies falling over each other to give multi-disc contracts to barely out of school buskers, allowing them to build up their skills, hone any talents and, eventually, or so the labels hoped, repay the investment. Bands like Home were everywhere, chock full of musicians often later making a greater inroads elsewhere. Often with back catalogues mostly forgotten, I enjoy looking back and remembering. This piece began musing on country and english. Funny how it seems to have ended elsewhere.