Simpler days, simpler days; back in the 1970s chart music was still largely the domain of youngsters, largely, give or take the odd svengali, music by and for youngsters. Had anyone told either the public or the performers that those self same performers would still, forty years later, be at it and flogging their wares at a stage near you, ridicule would be the result. No way, those in then know knew perfectly well that the the Rolling Stones, old men by then, in their 30s, were past it and ready to be put out to grass. And I dare say the Stones may even have thought that themselves, when Jagger said, of this 1971 album, by San Fran pre-punk post garage band hoodlums, the Flamin' Groovies, that they had done a better job (with it) than Sticky Fingers.
High Flyin' Baby (1971)
Back in 1971 there was still something desirable about teenagers. Ever since this transitional phase between being a kid and being a parent had been invented, roughly around 1956, the importance of snot-nosed braggarts and bum-fluff revolutionaries had become ever more elevated. Teenagers were for far more than just falling in love, they held the keys to the future, and many an anthem of the day recognised that, as band after band rallied their troops, a blind eye on their own disappearing youth. At least the Groovies, back then, were still in sight of their teens, the lynchpins, Cyril Jordan and Ray Loney being only part way and halfway into their 20s. The lyrics are a bizarre mix of bratty braggadoccio and pawnshop philosophy, all jammed into three short verses. I love it, even if it took me until now to actually decipher the words. Even if you take the Jagger comments as hype, by Teenage Head, their third release, they were certainly brewing up a potent mix, and it well deserves a listen for when cobwebs need blowing away. I hear more of the Pretty Things, mind, than the Stones.
Yesterdays Numbers (1971)
The Groovies were all over the UK rock press of the day, especially that most counter culture of the inkies, the NME, who embraced the fact that the band seemed stranded in the UK for reasons never quite revealed, the suggestion clear that they were just to bad to be allowed home. Bad as in bad, maan, and therefore to be revered. Their thrashy trashy three minute songs were the antithesis of the fading meritocracy of prog, whose concept album crowns were beginning to tarnish. Much of that was mythology, of course, the rather more prosaic truth being that they didn't have a deal in the US, and that the UK arm of United Artists had brought them over to make a record under the helm of Dave Edmunds, himself no stranger to retro stylings. But Ray Loney had already jumped ship, and the band were moving more into a power pop direction. If Loney was the Stones, Jordan was more the Beatles.
Shake Some Action (1976)
The band hung together, sometimes barely, over the passing years, their flame never quite extinguishing, always available to become god-fathers of whatsoever movement was currently in vogue. If punks they weren't, certainly punky they were, and it is to that movement they became most closely aligned, if to the ever so slightly more cerebral US wing thereof. It should be no surprise that it was to the Groovies that the Ramones acted as support, on their maiden trip to the UK. Edmunds was still producing the band when their high water mark was reached, with the still vibrant Shake Some Action, the song the band are mainly known for. Not a hit at the time, regular later outings on film soundtracks, notably 1995's Clueless, have ensured its place in the pantheon, a go to song for evoking high energy good rockin' tonite. Various short-lived reunions of various band members ensued in that wake, it taking until 2009 before Loney and Jordan took to the stage together, if airbrushing out post 1972 content. Time repeated itself and he again left to be replaced, again, by Chris Wilson, who had taken his place first time around. Musical chairs continued to be the order of the day, 2017 seeing a new album and another new launch. 2019 had Chris Wilson being depped by Loney, now acting as special guest in the band. Entitled the Teenage Head tour, the now septuagenarian Loney was hospitalised after a fall and missed the European dates, dying a few months later. (Below has them shaking some action, sans Loney, on the Paris leg, Jordan still the dapper frontman.)
The saying always was that only the bad girls liked the Rolling Stones, which then needed a whole further category for the Pretty Things, as their reputation made the Stones, by comparison, seem like Herman's Hermits. With longer hair, tighter trousers and a r'n'b* so raw it could make you flinch, these 60's rockers were making hell long before Jagger et al were shocking the nation. How was it that I, at the age of eight, could be their number one fan?
I should add I probably wasn't, but they certainly made an impact on my formative and future tastes. I may have stated here before how recorded music first entered my reckoning, my elder sister coercing my parents into the purchase of a dansette record player. It was either second hand, or on special offer, as it came with a stack of 45s, many of which I have to this day. Mostly staid early 60s fare, Bobby's Darren and Vee, the big O, Gene Pitney, some Elvis ballads and probably an early Beatle or two. But within the stash of paper sleeved parlophones, derams and regal zonophones, there was a cardboard sleeved disc. With photos of scowling youth on the cover. Two tracks on either side! This was an EP.
I played it to death, the two main cuts, 'Rosalyn' and 'Don't Bring Me Down' being peculiarly affecting. All snarled vocals, rudimentary backing and more attitude than was ever allowed back then. Already a precocious reader of the musical press, having access to the Disc and Musical Echo, I learnt about the band. In truth I only cared about the singer, Phil May, having, probably, a big pre-teen crush. He had the longest hair in London, I learnt, that being enough for me, shackled then in to my schoolboy compulsory short back and sides for a good many years yet. However I also being confused by one of the band having a beard, something I associated with jazzmen and my brother, and being the opposite of cool. Even discovering this was Dick Taylor, who had left the Rolling Stones nascent line-up to form this band, still sat oddly. He just looked so old.
The years went by and I became a teenager. I was now a creature of underground tastes, 'underground' the name for proto-progressive and heavy metal: hard rock as we called it. Whilst I learnt Phil May still had the longest hair in London, their first wave had peaked, necessitating a huge change in direction. I confess I was no longer on the bus at this stage, as, whilst familiar with S.F. Sorrow and Parachute, I had bigger fish to fry. S.F. Sorrow may have been the first rock opera, but I was busy listening to Tommy. The Pretty's just became another rock band on the fringes, well regarded, prolific, a bit like Savoy Brown, just nothing to bother my ears with. I even caught them live, in the 70s, if by mistake. Newly signed to Led Zeppelin's Swansong label, the one with the logo of Robert Plant with wings, a rumour spread that Zeppelin would be playing London's tiny basement Marquee Club, as a support to their new signing. Well, the Pretties played, but nobody else. Silk Torpedo was the album being promoted. I didn't buy.
I guess David Bowie gave me my renewed interest, his Pin Ups album including both the songs I had loved so much from the EP. I should declare here I abhorred these Bowie versions, my inner rock snob near fully formed, having 'preferred his earlier stuff' of Hunky-Dory. This also gave me the opportunity to whip out that EP and play it loud to my largely indifferent friends.
Years go by, decades go by, marriages, children and respectability wax and wane. And still the Pretty Things play on. It was probably about 2012 I started again to go to festivals, my tent having had a good rest for most of the decade or so ahead. One such was Lunar Festival, 2016, at Tanworth-in-Arden, near Stratford-on-Avon. One of the clinchers of my going was that the Pretties were on the bill, the other being it's nearness to where I was living. The hippy years had come and gone for the band, fame had further beckoned but never quite delivered, and they were reliant as much on their longevity as their talent. Back more to a more bluesy garage band clatter, wailing harmonica, black suits and skinny ties, they were distinctly survivors. May and Taylor, the latter back in the band having passed on some of the hippy dream, the front men alongside some younger blood, some of whom had been with the band for decades. Taylor, still with beard, looked positively ancient, but kept a tight hand on the tight Chicago blues, whilst May, thinner on top, a little paunchy, sang like a man possessed. It was wonderful, my day capped by being able to thank Mr May personally for his years of my musical pleasure, he happy to roam the crowd after the performance.
I think it was 2019 I learnt the pair were beginning to wind down the band, emphysema playing havoc with May's singing. But there remained a promise of a lower-key acoustic version remaining a possibility. So it was a shock to learn of May's passing, in May, aged 75. Not covid, praise be, but from complications of hip surgery. Hardly rock'n'roll but hardly surprising. Making then for a surprise, as that promised material appears, the first couple of tracks a week after his death, the rest of the album, 'Bare as Bone, Bright as Blood', dropping in September. Well worth a punt.
This 1971 single sounds like one terrific hangover from a party so "happening" it must have been revolutionary.
October 26, 1917 is the day after the Bolsheviks took over Russia and began spreading Communism in the 20th Century. The plan was to implement worldwide revolution. It didn't quite happen that way.
But aside from the date, this song appears to be about the end of another revolution. This one was orchestrated by hippies and it ended after a ten month span in which The Beatles broke up and Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Altamont concert-goer Meredith Hunter all died.
For The Pretty Things "October 26" ends a string of remarkable albums ( S.F. Sorrow, Parachute) and singles cut at Abbey Road. At this point vocalist Phil May was the only original member of the band left. The single made no impact in the UK but broke the Top 30 in The Netherlands. You can find "October 26" on the re-issued Parachute album.
1967 is a year that resonates strongly with me, even though I wasn't born until the following year. As others have mentioned a lot of great music was released that year.
It was the year psychedelic rock went mainstream, and there was no shortage of groups jumping on the bandwagon. Here are four groups who donned kaftans, dug up sitars, and went all day-glo on us for a year.
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