New on Lightspots

When I began Lightspots, the focus was always going to be on 60s music but I had it in mind to move beyond that over time into related areas such as film and television, still with a retro slant.  I’ve updated my  About page to say a bit more about this.

Regulars will have already noticed a couple of recent television reviews.  Now I’d like to widen the scope to look at two overlooked 70s television series which, I hope you’ll agree, deserve a wider audience.  Hopefully you may have seen them just recently as both were released on DVD last month.  They are The Boy from Space and The Changes.

The Boy from Space

The Boy from Space is a well remembered, chilling drama from the BBC’s Look and Read series.  Although created for schools’ television, I think it stands up well as an effective piece of drama in its own right.  I’ve tried to show how some of the educational aspects, rather than detracting from the drama, actually serve it rather well.

The Changes

The Changes has been released to quite cool reviews in some quarters and clearly disappoints some who saw it in 1975 or those wanting a more action-oriented thriller.  But I think it deserves to be remembered as an ambitious piece of children’s television which resonates strongly with many key aspects of Britain in the mid-70s.

I’ve reviewed The Boy from Space this week.  The Changes will follow next Friday.  There will be two pieces on each series – one covering the DVD release and a second, much fuller article discussing each series and offering a personal perspective from this child turned adult viewer.

Rest assured that music remains the mainstay here so the next music post is just two weeks away!  There is a new page, My 60s to maintain the musical strand until then.

Have a good weekend
David

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The Boy from Space on DVD

DVD: 2-disc set, BFI, August 2014
Original TV series: 
10 Episodes, tx. 21.09.71 – 30.11.71 [10×20 mins] BBC-1 



Out there in space
Do we have friends?
Is there a place where the universe ends?
When shall we find it?
Never, never,
Space goes on forever.

 

 

What is it about a low budget drama last shown as part of schools’ television over three decades ago that left such an impact on many of those who viewed it?  This welcome DVD release gives us the chance to find out.

The Boy from Space was originally shown in 1971 as part of Look and Read (1967-2004), the BBC Schools series for 7-9 year old ’backward readers.’

Look and Read featured a dramatised story told over a number of weeks, alongside educational material on reading which would relate in some way to the drama.  The Boy from Space was perhaps the most memorable of these stories for at least two generations of school children.

This BFI DVD release includes almost all that you could ever want from the series in its various permutations – all that still exists anyway (ie. unfortunately not the 1971 series as broadcast).  So we have the complete 1980 series in episodic format plus a feature-length ‘omnibus’ version lasting about seventy minutes (an ideal way of seeing the filmed drama without the interruptions and repetitions), the BBC Records audio version from 1972 (though sadly not including John Baker‘s original incidental music) and a BBC Records film version which combines the 1972 record audio with the 1980 visuals to create a new presentation.  Finally, there is 1980’s Wordy’s Think-ups, the spirited songs and delightful animations which are like a kind of very English take on Sesame Street.  Sheila Steafel in particular does sterling work on the songs.

The accompanying 20 page booklet includes context setting essays from Ben Clarke on The Boy from Space and television historian Chris Perry on Look and Read.  The only ‘essential information’ missing is the film locations.  There are recollections on the soundtrack from Paddy Kingsland, several b/w stills and a cover featuring artwork from the accompanying pupils’ pamphlet.  There is even a reproduction of 1972 teachers’ notes.  Finishing touches would have been contributions from producer Claire Chovil, film director Maddalena Fagandini and some of the cast members but I’m not quibbling about that.

It is great to have this series back in the public domain.  As a mere ‘schools programme’ I didn’t dare hope that it would ever be afforded a decent DVD release, let alone one as comprehensive and carefully produced as this.

Thanks BFI.

The Boy from Space and the Boy from Guildford

The Boy from Space and the Boy from Guildford

10 Episodes, Original tx. 21.09.71. – 30.11.71. [10×20 mins] BBC-1 

This post gathers my memories, impressions and sometimes misconceptions of this classic series as a viewer across more than forty years, as the most fondly remembered of the Look and Read dramas makes it onto DVD: ‘The Boy from Space.’        


“Episode 6… it’s always Episode 6!”

Memory is a strange and notoriously unreliable thing.

I don’t think I saw The Boy from Space when it was first shown in 1971.  I would have been seven, the right age, but the series wasn’t viewed at my primary on its archetypal schools’ television (wooden shutters, towering metal frame on casters).  I might possibly have seen one episode at home that year.  It would definitely have been episode six – Mr Bunting is driving Peep Peep to hospital but the thin man reaches out his arm from behind a tree and points a gun towards Mr Bunting’s car to make it stop.  The thin man walks purposefully towards the car much to the boy’s great panic.  And there – unbelievably – the episode ends.

The Boy from Space was repeated in 1972 and again in 1973.  I reckon I saw not more than one episode each year and it was the same episode on both occasions, again episode six, one of the scariest -though perhaps not the scariest – of the ten.

So I grew up haunted by this memory of something frightening replicated three times in my early childhood.  That same episode ending, just stuck there.  No resolution, only a blank.  Although frustrating, the replication made the series all the more fascinating.  Why was it always this same episode and what happened to Peep-Peep, Mr Bunting and the children?

But it wasn’t just the unresolved events of that sequence which haunted me.  It was the air of strangeness and gathering fear which pervaded much of the episode.  Is fear a good motivator to get children to learn to read?  Perhaps when it translates into excitement and eager anticipation.  The producers clearly thought so.

“It always ends just as it’s getting exciting!”     

‘Radio Times’ printed each episode title and I used these to try to piece together the story and work out how ‘my’ episode fitted in.   One episode title was The Man in the Sand-pit which translated into my mind as Helen and Dan finding the thin man in their garden’s sand-pit.  I never thought of it in any other way.  I was so certain of this, or perhaps so impressed by the image it conjured up, that my imaginative speculation became a cast iron piece of memory until I discovered, upon watching the DVD last month, that I had totally imagined it.  There was no sand-pit in a garden.  The setting was vast sandy terrain in the countryside.  How memory deceives… except that the memory itself wasn’t wrong because imagination cannot be.  My mistake was in confusing my own imaginative speculation for something I had actually seen on television.

To my delight, The Boy from Space was reshown in 1980, now with different music and accompanied by entirely new educational material (and for the first time in colour though I wasn’t aware of that as we remained black-and-white until ’83).  These changes made some of my original memories feel even more elusive but, at last, here was a chance to fill in some gaps to the story.  I got to see at least another couple of episodes as, in the lead-up to 1980’s ‘O’ levels, I had ‘home study’ time away from school.

As well as correcting my false memory over the sand pit, last month’s DVD release also cleared up the mystery around the repeated episode six.  It turns out my experience was shared by thousands, possibly tens of thousands, of children:  Look and Read was repeated to allow for different half-term holiday weeks across the country and episode six always fell squarely into mine.

Hallo Spaceboy

Seen all these years later, the series remains a delight in many ways. The Boy from Space recalls a time when children were free to roam and play outside, enjoying such simple but challenging activities as making a telescope from a cardboard tube in a country shed (‘observatory’).  It showcases the effectiveness of well-crafted storytelling and classic lo-fi spine-tingling inducements such as footsteps and a shadow advancing slowly up a stairway.

The clearly signposted aspects of the drama mark it out unmistakably as schools’ television.  But some of these necessarily restrictive aspects serve (albeit unintentionally) to give The Boy from Space its uniquely thrilling quality.

Writer Richard Carpenter had to work with a controlled vocabulary of only 386 words.  This could almost be an extreme example of the kind of exercise a writer might set themselves.  Here, it is an imposed requirement of the writer’s remit, one which Richard Carpenter later admitted finding very difficult to fulfill.  The result is a pared down simplicity which adds a directness and curious significance to the spoken word, especially where it is, as here, pronounced spoken and clearly enunciated.

Helen’s commentary adds a further layer of apparent artifice to the 1980 revision which, in its recall of classic children’s fiction, actually accentuates the scary aspects.  Here is her commentary for the chase sequence:

“I had the same feeling I had in the wood, as if someone was watching us”.
“He came towards us.  He was tall and thin”.
“He looked very pale and strange”.
“Dan got up and we ran off and hid.  We were very scared”.

There is sometimes a slowness and deliberateness to the filming too which might have been lost had The Boy from Space been written as a fully-fledged children’s drama. Episode Two and Three’s chilling sequences in which the thin man chases after the children – the way in which the chase is not just a conventional action-packed runaround but almost seems to borrow from silent film in its jerky stop-start deliberateness, the starkly exaggerated actions of the thin man, the way he is framed against the bare terrain like a figure of expressionist horror, his weirdly projecting ‘feeling’ arm – all of this adds hugely to the tension and strangeness of the serial (John Woodnutt as the thin man is particularly good here).  Director Maddalena Fagandini had previously worked with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop and perhaps some of that outfit’s experimentalism found its way into her direction.

The child catcher

Of course, it is impossible viewing this 2014 ‘post-Savile’ to escape entirely the idea that what you are seeing is two defenceless children menaced by a predatory paedophile complete with staring eyes and a dirty mac.  It is indeed surprising that Dan initially extends a friendly greeting to the man – a cheery “Hello!” – given ‘don’t talk to strangers’ advice to children was ubiquitous even in 1971.  Producer Claire Chovil must have discussed the implications of showing these scenes to infant children within the context of educational television.  Perhaps it was felt that such material was justified precisely because it graphically shows the threats open to children who fail to heed sound parental advice.  Which child would dare to say hello to a stranger after viewing episode two?

Seen now, the chase remains disturbing not just because of the staccato qualities I mentioned but the thin man’s extraordinary appearance.  With his wide-brimmed floppy hat, modish large-lapelled cream trench coat, space trousers like bright blue jeans and oversized moon boots, he embodies a kind of 1971 boutique chic where the dirtied-up high fashion elements are what unsettle, not the prototype BBC alien uniform semi-visible underneath.   The sandpit location, although something of a cliché in BBC sci-fi of the 60s and 70s, works really well here because it is (or was) a safe play place for the children yet its barrenness and remoteness starkly contrasts with the striking familiar-yet-strange appearance of the thin man.  Helen’s voiceover tells us that she recognises his clothes but cannot remember where from.  In fact, the thin man has taken them from Tom along with his car, all with connotations of an alien stealing aspects of human identity.

Tom Tom Turnaround

The fact that the children’s adult friend, Tom, is played by a black actor at a time when there were very few roles for black people on television, is interesting.  There is nothing at all in the part of Tom which requires that he be black so I can only assume that either Loftus Burton was considered simply the right man for the part or that the producer made a laudable decision to use a diverse cast.

Another less liberal reading of Burton’s casting is possible.  Tom acts as a bridge between the children and the old, white, traditionally establishment figure of Mr Bunting.  It might be said that there is a kind of subtly implicit racism in this – Tom, as a black man, is seen as closer to the world of the children, able to share in their innocence.

There is still a third reading which is rather more benevolent.  Tom represents qualities of trustworthiness and reliability and his being black – in contrast to the blond silver-skinned aliens – makes this contrast visible to a child audience.  He is the good guy, whereas the fair-skinned ones are, at best, unreliable.  (What is it with aliens being represented as Aryan blonds – the Thals from Dr Who, Sky?)

INGENIUS Orange

In its educational remit as in its drama, The Boy from Space is incredibly well crafted.  You can’t remove the educational side of the narrative because the story would fall apart without the mirror-writing.

The story also utilises subtler elements of Reithian paternalism in promoting virtues such as scientific curiosity, resourcefulness, courage, a willingness to accept and understand others, the virtues of trust and friendship across divides.

It is not surprising that The Boy from Space was written by television writer Richard Carpenter who presumably created the wonderful Catweazle at around the same time.  Claire Chovil must have quickly realised what a mini-masterpiece she had in The Boy from Space, as it lends itself so easily to the demands of the programme’s ‘educational middle’.  There was also probably gratitude that what could have been a budget-breaking spaceship is parked under the lake, its exterior remaining unseen (although a flying saucer features in the 1980 opening title sequence and a rocket-type ship in the pamphlet, presumably from different versions of the show!).

Changes  

Before The Boy from Space came to be re-shown in 1980, it was given something of a makeover.  The educational middles were entirely redone to feature the popular Wordy, a constant in Look and Read since 1974. My memory of the 1971 inserts with single male presenter Charles Collingwood (who went on to voice Wordy) is somewhat hazy but I recall a rather more sober, instructional tone than 1980’s Wordy and Cosmo version.

Some changes were made to the drama as well.   A short sequence was filmed to open the series featuring original actors Sylvestra Le Touzel and Stephen Garlick as Helen and Dan re-visiting the observatory as teenagers.  Helen’s recall of their adventures serves as a lead-in to the rerun drama.  Helen also provides a necessary commentary throughout.

The original theme music by John Baker was replaced with the endearing and memorable synthesiser accompanied ‘Up there in space, do we have friends?’ sung to perfection by Derek Griffiths.  The song evokes a quiet sense of wonder which is just right for The Boy from Space but does couch the series in more comforting terms than John Baker’s original coldly spacey sounds (you can just make out a remnant of these at the end of episode ten before the new theme takes over).

Baker’s original incidental music for the 1971 series was also replaced with Paddy Kingsland’s updated 1980 version.  Kingsland recalls being impressed with both the original ‘very strong’ film and Baker’s music which ‘gave the whole film a dark atmosphere that perfectly suited the tone of the original Fagandini film.’  His brief was to ‘lighten it up a bit’, highlighting the action side of the script.  Overall there is more music than in the 1971 original, in keeping with changes to television production over the intervening eight years (and since).  This tallies with my slightly disappointed sense in 1980 that The Boy from Space wasn’t quite as frightening as I had recalled it.  I was unsure whether this was due to my being fifteen years old rather than seven or eight or was it that the series itself actually felt a little different?  A little of its sense of unease – there in those original silences – had slipped away.  Sadly the DVD release does not feature Baker’s original music and, neither is it included on 2008’s The Baker Tapes Volumes 1 and 2 compilations.  It is likely that none survives.

Overall then, the changes made from 1971 to 1980 versions were about adding pace and a kind of all round accessibility and user-friendliness.  My impression is that something otherworldly was sacrificed in the process but as the 1971 original no longer exists, we shall probably never know.   Certainly the changes were in keeping with the climate of the times as notions of child-centredness and accessibility moved centre-stage throughout the 70s.  It’s interesting that presenter Cosmo’s bright track-suit in 1980 is more ‘childish’ than the children’s clothes in 1971.

Lost in Space

So I have followed The Boy from Space over more than forty years, through viewings as child, adolescent and adult.  Just as this DVD has revived memories of the 1980 viewing and allowed me to complete the full story, it has perhaps locked away my 1971 memories of that long lost original for all time.

Thanks to Ben Clarke’s BroadcastforSchools for supplying 1971 transmission dates.  The site has plenty of interesting information on the 1971 and 1980 series.

The Boy from Space on DVD
 

Oh! You Pretty Things: The Story of Music and Fashion

 Part 1/3  Tribes  tx. 17.09.14  9.00-10.00pm, BBC Four


Embed from Getty Images

They’ve got theirs: the Small Faces

This was always a BBC Four documentary waiting to happen – fabulous archive footage as backdrop to reminiscences of youthful fashionable excess, an exploration of clothing as identity, lifestyle, expression and a sense of belonging.

That’s pretty much what we have here plus a few famous faces – Cilla Black, the Small Faces’ Kenny Jones, Nigel Waymouth, Barbara Hulanicki and Arthur Brown.

And very watchable it is too once you get past the too eager to please commentary (‘British rock and pop music is our grreeeeat gift to the world…’ Nobody speaks like this so why do commentators have to?

Part One is a whistle-stop tour through the tribes of the 60s and 70s – mods, psychedelic hipsters (hippies are never named as such), denim-clad Status Quo supporters, rude boys, Marc Bolan and Roxy Music devotees.   Twiggy-lookalikes flit across concrete walkways among the freshly sprung tower-blocks, bright young things show off their finery down the King’s Road, newly emboldened young women flock to Biba’s darkened interiors (the 60s fashion scene was pretty Londoncentric).   We’ve seen much of this before but the sense of playful liberation doesn’t diminish with the years.

All too Beautiful   

In its occasional attention to detail, some of the memories were as sharp as the clothes – a mod recalls standing up in a railway carriage so as not to spoil an immaculate trouser crease.   Then there was the immortal line from Small Faces manager Don Arden – “If I’ve ever exploited anybody, it’s for their own benefit because they want to be exploited.”   He apparently paid the group in clothes, hence their daily trips to Carnaby Street’s Lord John boutique.

My favourite part, because it showed us something new, was Nigel Lesmoir-Gordon’s lovely home film of a late 60s LSD trip with partner Jenny – all soft-focus, tree-talking abandonment in sun-dappled hues.   Nigel also produces his original William Morris inspired jacket (similar to one worn by George Harrison) to show not just the flamboyance of 1967, but how clothes were one aspect of a desire for exploration beyond convention, gateways to a greater world.

Sound and Vision

Amongst the desert boots and mohair suits (is that a line from Cat StevensPortobello Road?), a little more insight would have been welcome.   The style conscious young male of the 60s marked a radically new definition of masculinity, or at least one that had not been in vogue since the age of Beau Brummell.  How and why did such a sea change come about?   This would have taken a more sociological viewpoint than was on offer here.  A subject for another documentary, perhaps.

Some of the archive film was entirely new to me.  We get to see a clip of the Small Faces performing I’ve Got Mine in ‘Dateline London’ but will we ever get to see the film?  The past is so tightly curated that it’s unlikely outside of a BFI screening.

‘It’s never just been about the music, it’s been about the style that goes with it.’   I’ve mixed feelings about this.  There’s always a look that goes along with pop music and that’s integral and in many ways essential to it, certainly at the time.  I love 60s fashions in all their colourful permutations but I always want to be able to say that I like a piece of music purely as music, a song in its own right.  And it is the music which has ultimately outlived the clothes.

Cilla

Part 1/3  tx. 15.09.14  9.00-10.00pm, ITV1


Embed from Getty Images

Cilla at Granada Television, 1963

I’ve sometimes wondered what would have happened if Cilla Black had disappeared into obscurity around the end of the 60s/start of the 70s.  In this alternative universe, the 80s/90s Cilla of ‘Blind Date’ and ‘Surprise, Surprise’ never happened.  Would she have merited the same kind of adulation which greeted Sandie Shaw’s second career with The Smiths in the mid 80s?  We shall never know.

It’s maybe difficult to imagine Cilla ever being that cool but last night’s opening of Jeff Pope’s three part biopic was a reminder of the now almost forgotten Priscilla White/Cilla Black of early 60s Liverpool, The Cavern and John, Paul, George and Ringo.  How cool is that?

It was good to find that this wasn’t one of those truncated TV dramas which hatches and dispatches a storyline in one hour flat (the new ‘Upstairs Downstairs’ and the film remake of ‘Brideshead Revisited’ felt absurdly telescoped).  Some may say Cilla doesn’t merit a three part series but last night’s opener boldly said otherwise.  It positively fizzed with energy.

Obviously the period fascinates but so too does the story itself – an ambitious young, working class woman who resolutely put her singing and career first and amiable boyfriend and future husband to be, Bobby Willis, second to eventually find huge success with the top record producer in the country.  There is a lovely scene with Bobby making his way through the back-to-backs humming his own composition Shy of Love which was to become the B-side of Cilla’s first single.  He tells her he is twenty-four years old, works in a recording studio and owns a car.  When it emerges none of this is true (he works in a bakery) after her initial snub, it endears him to Cilla all the more.  We see him needling to become her manager which results in his own hopes of singing success dashed as he devotes himself to furthering Cilla’s ambitions.

Sheridan Smith sparkles as Cilla combining mischief and humour along with that backbone of ambition.  The live singing is impressive, especially her nerves during an uncharacteristically lacklustre rendition of Summertime before Brian Epstein.

The detail feels just right from the smoke-filled cafs to the badly dyed beehives and the way The Beatles are shown as just another local band.  I had problem keeping up with the Scouse accents but that kind of felt like part of the fun.

I’m not sure how up-to-date the three parts take us – until the end of the 60s, I would imagine.  Surprising that this missed out on Cilla’s fiftieth anniversary which was actually last year (marked by a Paul O’ Grady fronted tribute and a DVD set).  Or maybe there is an album to coincide with the series… I rather hope not, to be honest.  Sorry Cilla, but for me this is how I like to remember you.
   


Cilla at the BBC
Take Three Songs… by Cilla Black
 

Bad Bad Dreams

No. 33 in Top 50 Bee Gees’ Songs 1966-72

By Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb
Lead Vocals: Barry & Robin
Album: To Whom It May Concern 1972


“Feel like I’m crying, there’s no use denying it’s all been done”

Showing that the Bee Gees were still strongly influenced by The Beatles as late as 1972, this is a wonderfully infectious, seemingly effortless and immaculately performed (in just one take) piece of guitar and drums rock punctuated by bursts of brass and with some great vocals (unison as well as harmony).

Bad Bad Dreams throws a spanner in the idea that the band were all about slow ballads at this time and forms a vital part of the diverse and under-rated To Whom It May Concern.

There are references to the overall craziness of the world which perhaps reflect the brother’s awareness that their ‘60s success was rapidly waning.  Lyrics are defiant – ‘For your information we still own the nation’ and at times self-addressing – ‘Your only hang-up is you hesitate’.  In fact, the song can almost he heard as a call to brotherly arms as the three musketeers muster renewed confidence that they can take on the world and win again.

Nevertheless, the album title To Whom it May Concern tells a different story.  Its anonymous greeting shows the group feeling undermined by their diminished fortunes.

No 32 You’ll Never See My Face Again
No 34 The Change is Made

Fading Yellow Volume 2

Flower Machine Records [second press]
“21 course smorgasbord of US pop-sike & other delights 1965-69”

Fading Yellow 2

And so to the tricky second album… Fading Yellow Volume 2 draws inspiration from across the pond.

There is a fairly sustained mood throughout – minor key, surprisingly melancholy, not dark, as such, more like sunshine breaking through overhanging branches or firelight patterns on the walls – so this collection works well listened to as a whole (perhaps omitting tracks 17-21, interesting curios which nevertheless feel a little as if they are tagging along to flesh things out).

Fateful, foreboding

Cover artists Disraeli appear in matching red hunting-style jackets, white polo-necks and sporting immaculate side-partings leading you to think they’re a garage band or a Paul Revere outfit turned  serious for the psychedelic dawn (though this is from 1968).  B-side to Spinnin’ Around, What Will the New Day Bring *** is gently chugging, dreamy folk-pop with a fateful or even foreboding mood – a little Spanish guitar decorates strummed guitars and lazy (in a good way) vocals.  This is very well regarded by many and its premier position suggests Fading Yellow’s Jörgen Johansson recognises a strong lead-off when he hears one but I can’t get why it’s so mightily favoured.

‘We played our pipes for you but you didn’t dance’…  There is a Curt Boettcher influence in the arrangement for The Network’s Ears of Stone *** recalling tracks like It’s a Sad World  and Glass but lacking the melodicism of the former and the inspiration of the latter to lift this to four stars.  Percussion, sitar, woodwind, organ and strikes of electric guitar conjure a shadowy atmosphere but the song never quite transcends itself.

The Whispers’
Knowin’  *** is energetic garage pop with a soulful vocal, a mournful oboe and a crazy but short-lived instrumental freakout.

The child-woman who inhabits many ’60s psych songs flits through The July Four’s sunshine elegy, Frightened Little Girl  ****  ‘looking for a world, one that she doesn’t know.’  Some might say this is cheesy but there’s a good song here and I like its air of innocence wrapped up in those ba-ba-ba vocals.

Calliope’s I’ll Take It Back *** is harmony-rich tambourine driven guitar-pop with nice electric guitar work and a surprise change of pace for an extended lead off.

Never Mind, I’m Freezing ***  a great arresting title which turns out to be an early single from HP Lovecraft vocalist George Edwards.  It comes with peeling guitars and an insistent heavy drum beat.  I know this single has its fans but it’s a bit of a dirge for me I’m afraid.

After a light start, How Many Tears *** by The Poor emerges as slow building folk-rock with lovely soft vocals and a detuned leaping octave electric lead-off.

Then this collection hits its stride with three fine tracks, following on from each other…

Mellow, melodic, mellotronic

It took three listens for me to fall for The Happy Return’s mellow, melodic, mellotronic harmony-pop, I Thought I Loved Her *****.   A summer-turned-to-autumn mood pervades, melancholy verses giving way to cathartic choruses and an unusual wavering motif around the title.  There’s something of a Moody Blues sound here, though less magisterial, of course… maybe it’s the flute-like mellotron and chorus vocals.  I’ve found myself humming this one.

From the start Don’t Say No ***** by The Oracle sounds unmistakably like a Curt Boettcher production and indeed it is produced by Curt and Keith Olsen.  The song was written by one ‘Friedmann.’  Is that Curt on vocals?  The register is too low, surely.  The Oracle were presumably another band that he lent his talents to, working wonderful magic with sitar, oscillating wind effects and cascading vocal harmony choruses.  This can sit proudly alongside anything produced by The Millennium.

Sung in a distinctively deliberate fashion, The Rites’ Hour Girl ***** is flickering flamed, cool shaded, prime psychedelia in a neat pop package.  I really like the economical precision to the playing and performances.  It sounds as if The Rites have set up their stall in one of those ’60s ‘caverns in a hollow where the sun never shone’, the band silhouetted in close fitting black with ‘velvet flamed’ shadows dancing across the walls.  I’ve been humming this one too.  More on The Rites

Minor key moodiness

There is more minor key moodiness courtesy of The Dynamics’ All She Said  *** and then we have The Holy Mackerel’s Scorpio Red ***.   It’s interesting how well this Mackerel piece fits into the Volume 2 template.  Paul Williams’s songwriting nous is unmistakable through the psychedelic lens.

Track 13, Trust, by The Peppermint Trolley Company ***** is probably the loveliest thing on Volume 2.  Arranged by Chad Stuart (Chad & Jeremy) with flutes and harpsichord aplenty, The Trolley provide the harmonies to this great Paul Williams and Roger Nichols song.  No great originality is added to Paul Williams’s own version on his 1969 solo album Someday Man, but this is a highly enjoyable piece all the same, deserving five stars even if it is a straightforward cover.  And here they are in action, looking just like a Peppermint Trolley Company should.

The Summer Skies by The Higher Elevation *** is Volume 2’s sunniest offering – ‘let’s pretend the whole world is made out of great big red balloons’ – and this was co-written by John Carter and Tim Gilbert of The Rainy Daze (they also co-wrote Incense and Peppermints).

Chris and Craig’s  Isha ****
is an insistent and exotic eastern skewed piece with crazed harpsichord from the future Penny Arkade duo whilst Where Is Mary? by The Backseat *** is of interest as it was written and produced by Larry Tamblyn of The Standells.

There is a slight dip in quality for the remainder of Volume 2 (final track excepted, as we shall see).  Tracks 17-21 just seem less remarkable than most of what has gone before.

The Poor’s Come Back Baby  *** is a nice mellow piece with chiming guitar but the lyrics are a tad uninspired.

The Cascades I Bet You Won’t Stay  ** is where frat-pop meets the Fading Yellow’s outer fringes.  Apart from some nice vocal harmonies, the main interest here is that this is the same group who had a major hit with Rhythm of the Rain back in 1962.

Tracks 19, 20 and 21 come from an undated Canadian promotional EP, Live from Vancouver so these are real curios.  The three songs are the competent soul-psych-pop of The Sound Set’s Mind in a Bottle  *** , Sea of Dreams by The Reign *** – enjoyable guitar/drums interplay which takes off into a brief garage phase before echoing out – and the sunny day but slightly pedestrian psych-pop  of In a Whirl by The Look ***  If sound quality is important to you, you might want to take away a star for tracks 19 and 20.

Expecting the very last track to be either another obscurer than obscure obscurity or a triumphant finale, what we get instead is a perky little instrumental.  And very welcome it is too.  Mystery Track 22 is Mr Miff ***, the B-side to Track 4.  It’s a really nice mid-’60s guitar-led piece with a playful air and it turns out to be the perfect way to round off Volume 2.  I’m tempted to give it four stars.

 1. Disraeli – What Will the New Day Bring? [1968] ***
 2. The Network – Ears of Stone [n/d] ***
 3. The Whispers – Knowin’ [n/d] ***
 4. The July Four – Frightened Little Girl [1966] ****
 5. Calliope – I’ll Take It Back [1968] ***
 6. George Edwards – Never Mind, I’m Freezing [1967] ***
 7. The Poor – How Many Tears [1966] ***
 8. The Happy Return – I Thought I Loved Her [1969] *****
 9. The Oracle – Don’t Say No [1967] *****
10. The Rites – Hour Girl [1967] *****
11. The Dynamics – All She Said  [n/d] ***
12. Holy Mackerel – Scorpio Red  [1968] ***
13. The Peppermint Trolley Company – Trust [1968] *****
14. The Higher Elevation – The Summer Skies [1968] ***
15. Chris and Craig – Isha [1966] ****
16. The Backseat – Where Is Mary [1967] ***
17. The Poor – Come Back Baby [1968] ***
18. The Cascades – I Bet You Won’t Stay [1965] **
19. The Sound Set – Mind in a Bottle [n/d]***
20. The Reign – Sea of Dreams [n/d] ***
21. The Look – In a Whirl  [n/d ]***
22. [Bonus track] The July Four Mr Miff [1966] ***


Fading Yellow Volume 1
Fading Yellow Volume 3
Fading Yellow Volume 4