BUT THE LITTLE CZECH GIRLS UNDERSTAND

Don't cry, Anicka. The Hoffster doesn't sign for anybody.

ILLES, Ne Sirjatok Lanyok (Don't Cry, Girls) (Hungarian LP from 1973)

For crate diggers and the more adventurous psych funksters, the wonderful world of Hungarian rock has always been a daunting venture, kinda like renting a David Lynch movie. There are moments of pure brilliance; the trouble is wading through all the garbage to find ‘em. Illes has always been Hungary’s most rewarding band, probably because they were like big rock stars back home, the Budapest Beatles. They even released a White Album (technically called Human Rights), although they did it in 1971, long after the Beatles had ceased to be a working entity. And while none of Illes’ albums are as great as the REAL White Album, or even Rubber Soul for that matter, there are a handful of psych funk breakbeat gems on each one of ‘em. And since, through the magic of Ebay, you no longer have to book a flight to Budapest to rifle through Laci Bacsi’s smoke-filled vinyl storeroom just to find ‘em, it’s easier than ever to start diggin’.

This is Illes’ final album, 1973’s Ne Sirjatok, Lanyok (Don’t Cry, Girls). They’ve added synthesizer on this one, and finally turned to the funk (presumably to attract some young Lanyok), so there are some dancefloor-ready funk MONSTERS on here, along with some occasionally surprising robotic krautrock moves that we’ve never heard from these guys before. And if Illes’ earlier albums found them looking backward a lot, trying to catch up to what was done years before, Don’t Cry, Girls actually shows them to be ahead of the curve, at least when you consider the rest of Europe was busy making Jethro Tull and Emerson Lake & Palmer rich. The minimal robot-like funk dance beat of “Say What You Want” will remind you a lot of Kraftwerk, and you might even mistake the wriggly synth accents in the trippy minor-key psycho freakout “Yes” to be the work of some 60’s-obsessed neo-psych group like Bevis Frond.

But the best thing here by FAR is the utterly AMAZING “Crazy Girl.” It’s a blisteringly fast-paced freak funk breakbeat mother with fire-alarm synth and rolling T. Rex/Steve Peregrine Took hand drums, a big old fat chocolate sundae for percussion fans. Imagine an early 70’s Giorgio Moroder single mixed with the Normal’s “Warm Leatherette” and sprinkled with some Gap Band, and yeah, two of those references actually came later on the musical timeline! So how could a band trapped in the creative wilderness of Eastern Europe manage to be both behind the times and well ahead of them? Maybe because, in those years between 1971 and 1973, Illes stopped emulating their older heroes and started listening to their younger fans. It’s like the Knack once said. The old-heads might not like it. But the little Lanyok understand.

THE SQUID POP METER SEZ: A good solid KILENC
BEST SERVED WITH: Goulash and Elsa Pataky. Or, better yet, Goulash ON Elsa Pataky.

A BOY AND HIS DOG

Robert Smith...

THE CURE, "A Few Hours After This..." (1985 B-side)

As promised, another Cure B-side from the "Inbetween Days" single, and another lost jewel that probably should have made it on to an album. This one finds Robert Smith jettisoning his entire band and working with only a string section, as an experiment that he later claimed "wasn't entirely successful." Well, I think it was. And it makes me wish he'd re-record "Disintegration" with the London Symphony Orchestra. Well, Robert, how 'bout it?

...and his dog.

Incidentally, with lyrics like "We can roll around and find out upside down" and "Squeeze me till I'm dry," not only is our boy Robby still happy, but downright FRISKY, if'n ya know what I mean. It's the 80's Goth equivalent of Robert Plant's "Squeeze my lemon baby, till the juice runs down my leg," although the thought of Robert Smith barechested in a leopard skin codpiece just made me dry heave. But hey, they're both Roberts, and they both had a pretty substantial mane of hair. And one of 'em once said "Does anyone remember laughter?" although it really applies to the other. Go figure.

THE SQUID POP METER SEZ: Another 10 out 10
BEST SERVED WITH: Chardonay and Anti-Depressants. Or maybe a mud shark and a groupie.

THE HAPPY GOTH AND THE EXPLODING BOY

A REAL exploding boy. No wonder it's such a feel-good song.

THE CURE, "THE EXPLODING BOY" (1985 B-SIDE)
I wasn’t a nice person when I was a kid. I’ll be honest. I went to TWO Cure concerts back in the late 80’s and early 90’s (the Disintegration tour and the Wish tour) not so much because I loved the band, but moreso to make fun of all the freaky Living Dead Dolls who got dressed up in their black eyeliner Subbacultcha finest to be in the presence of the mummified corpse of their hero, Robert Smith (who, by that time, looked like he’d been feeding off several of his morguemates for a half dozen years). They put on a good show, sleepwalking through endless Kraftwerk trances like “Pictures of You” and “A Forest,” and Robert didn’t move much so he didn’t break a sweat. I think I wore a bright yellow shirt that day just to be different.

It wasn’t always that way with the Cure. For a period of about five years, somewhere between the bottomless suicide pit of “Pornography” and the creeping malaise of “Disintegration,” Robert Smith was downright happy. He wore fuzzy bear suits, glow in the dark paint, and sang practically giddy songs about cats, caterpillars and even going to bed with another HUMAN BEING! Our little Hot Topic boy was growing up, and even starting to mingle. Could a roller skating party be that far off?




Somewhere during Robert’s happy period, there also came an abundance of songwriting, where suddenly Cure singles came equipped with not one but two or even THREE B-sides, and they were even starting to put some thought into ‘em. “The Exploding Boy” comes from 1985’s “Inbetween Days” single, and you can tell – the similarity’s obvious. Both have the same strumming Spanish guitar rhythm, both have short, choppy verses with repeating lines, and both deal with leaving someone. (compare “Knew if I turned, I’d turn away from you, and I couldn’t look back” with “Go on, go on, just walk away”). Yet as good as “Inbetween Days” is (and for years it was my favorite Cure song – how imaginative, right?), “The Exploding Boy” is even BETTER – and that’s because of that warped, distorted, fucked up drunken saxophone that weaves in and out of the song like a psychedelic hornets nest. You can tell Robert’s happy – he even gets off a few grunts after each chorus – which, for him, is the equivalent of Howard Dean’s infamous campaign-ending shriek. “The Exploding Boy” is pretty much “Inbetween Days” on acid, which is always an improvement where music’s concerned (how do you think we got through Doors albums?), and not only is it the Cure’s BEST B-side, it damn well might be their best fucking SONG ever, and hardly anyone but the most die-hard Cure fans and Hot Topic Club members have even HEARD the damn thing. I don’t think they’ve ever played it live – nor do I think they even COULD – and it would’ve certainly livened up the proceedings on “Head on the Door” (“A nightmare of you, of death in the pool” – how’s about swapping THAT one for starters?). Here, for three minutes, the Cure put aside their “black is how I feel on the inside” persona and just sing for the sheer fucking joy of it. For three minutes, “The Exploding Boy” is the closest the Cure gets to unbridled, mind-altering bliss. Why, I betcha Robert was so happy during the recording session, he changed into a dark brown shirt.



SQUID POP METER SEZ: A perfect 10 out of 10
BEST SERVED WITH: That's easy. Pop Rocks and Coke. Bingo!

THE STRANGE SAGA OF LUCIFER'S FRIEND

This is NOT Lucifer's friend. It is, however, Lucifer's really REALLY annoying wing man.

LUCIFER'S FRIEND, "Ride the Sky"/"Horla" (German Vertigo label, 1970)
Between the screaming Valkyrie battle cry that opens this little black slab of insanity and the mastodon-in-heat mating call synthesizer shrieks that circle above, "Ride the Sky" has often been cited as the inspiration for Led Zeppelin's Valhallan epic "Immigrant Song." The two of 'em certainly SOUND like they could both summon up their own personal Ragnarok easily enough, but musically, I gotta admit - I hear more of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" or early Deep Purple in THESE punishing psych metal grooves. The non-LP "Horla," meanwhile (not a tribute to the giant carpet-munching pinball-spewing mine demon from Star Trek's "Devil in the Dark"), is simply a good excuse to summon up a big ol' demon-worshipping guitar riff that's hairier than Fergie's armpits and then jam the living daylights out of it. Those searching for breaks will probably get some mileage out of a very cool bass and drum breakdown. Those searching for a cheap and easy way to peel the paint off your walls will find two sides of crushing hard rock that could only come from Satan's REAL friend. That sound you hear is the sound of Jimmy Page weeping.

SQUID AIR GUITAR METER SEZ: 10 out of 10
BEST SERVED WITH: Andechser Doppelbock Dunkel and a shot of Jagermeister, sipped from inside a pentagram drawn with the blood of Abe Vigoda.

BUT REALLY, HE'S CRYING ON THE INSIDE

Well, okay, technically the kid he ate this morning is crying. But it's the same thing.

GEORGIE LEONARD, One Man Band (US Private Label LP, 1971)

It’s been called “twisted folk psych” by many dealers, and that’s a good start. But Georgie Leonard’s 1971 homemade album One Man Band is much more than that – it’s twisted, alright, and if clowns give you nightmares, I’d stay away. Georgie’s a mix of Syd Barrett, Kim Fowley and John Wayne Gacy, all wrapped in one creepy little package. That’s not a BAD thing, mind you – I kinda like him. But yeah, clowns DO freak me out.




Of course, Georgie’s take on “The Clown” doesn’t help. He starts out by singing “I am the clown who will make you laugh,” but if that’s true, it’s the uncomfortable kind of laughter you have right before a giant meat cleaver comes slashing through the circus tent. In Georgie’s carnival, Bozo comes equipped with a red polka-dotted fuzz guitar, which he unholsters at the end of each verse with some LETHAL ripping fuzzed-out licks, spitting hot flames of cotton candy distortion at the kids in the front row, while his backing band of Killer Klowns provide the demented calliope theme music. He continues to sing “Don’t worry, people” over and over again, as if the throngs of panicking blood-caked Cub Scouts streaming through the back of the Big Top should just be ignored, but your feelings of unease are finally validated a the end of the song, when Georgie the Ritalin-Fueled Psycho Clown unleashes his final proclamation to the people in the cheap seats:

“Step right up! See the elephant fall down and break its neck, ho ho ho!
Step right up! And for the same admission price, you too will see the world blown to pieces!”

Great, but does it come with a trapeze act? And some sea lions, I LOVE me some sea lions. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, when Georgie later sings about “The Lake,” the first thing that comes to mind is Camp Crystal Lake. And yeah, it’s another dark song – a moody head trip similar to Pink Floyd’s “Set the Controls” with more of an actual song structure. Which sets the stage nicely for some simmering, undead Curved Air style violin to battle to the death with a great echoed-out teen prom queen guitar, most likely wearing a hockey mask like the cover of John Cale’s Guts. One wonders why this album wasn’t produced by Lucio Fulci.




“Ernie the Nark,” recorded in 1974 and included here as a bonus 7”, is a big-double-fisted-FUZZ-saturated garage psych BEAST that sounds a lot like Kim Fowley’s demented late 60’s rants. “Hi, I’m Ernie and I’m a Nark. Y’know, kids, smoking dope leads to heroin.” Sure thing, Georgie. Just like laughing at circus clowns leads to evisceration. We got ya. Now we’re just backing away, slowly.

Georgie claims that Weather Report bassist Jaco Pastorius plays on “Ernie the Nark,” but Jaco fans disagree. I’m not one of ‘em, so I just throw that out there. But a Jaco fan who also happened to KNOW Georgie Leonard (who apparently went by the name Georgie Porgie in his stage shows) claims that Mr. Leonard lived with his sister in a creepy old grey castle in Hollywood, Florida. And THAT I believe. And judging by what I hear on One Man Band, that’s one house my Girl Scouts will NOT be selling cookies to.




SQUID POP METER SEZ: 7 out of 10
BEST TAKEN WITH: A Joy Buzzer and a Lemon Meringue Pie to the Face

COME PLAY GUITAR WITH US, DANNY

If you think every all-girl band is cute, well my friend, guess again.

THE MYSTIC ZEPHYRS 4, "Oh...My Hands"/"Youth Quake" (US Two:Dot label, 1972)

AMAZING garage pop single for all those who thought the SHAGGS were crude. They ain't got nothin' on the mighty Mystic Zephyrs 4 - this all-girl garage band make those chicks sound like the Yardbirds, if'n ya know what I mean. This is absolutely stone-cold BRILLIANT stuff here, a bunch of Dazed and Confused rock babes trying desperately to stay in tune (they don't) while someone bangs on a defective department store organ and their 85-year-old grandmother tries to keep up on drums (I guessed on that one, at least that's what it SOUNDS like to me). Amazingly, the girls sing en masse ALL THE TIME, which, besides being fucking creepy, meant that if they all sang each note at the same time, there was a greater chance that one of the four might actually hit it. If it weren't already drowned out by Mildred behind the Ludwigs, who lays down some of the most INSANE drum fills of all time! I mean, they carried Keith Moon off the stage for less.




So what's a song with a great title like "Oh...My Hands" about anyway? Well, you see, someone in the Mystic Zephyrs 4 has blisters on her hands from playing this song so much, because it's the only way she (they?) can cope with the loss off her (their?) ex-boyfriend. So she goes to the doctor and he gives her relationship advice (as many surgeons are wont to do), to which she replies (and justifiably so) "Doo doo doo doo doo doo doo." Now this was still a year away from the Stones "Heartbreaker," so the love doctor had every right to commit the young lady right there on the spot, but he didn't, instead probably wondering why all four Mystic Zephyrs talk simultaneously EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME like creeped-out Village of the Damned sisters with guitars which is actually kinda hot now that I think about it especially if they're all dating the SAME LUCKY DUDE. Anyway, to wrap this up because I can see you're drifting off, her (their) hands now feel a lot better but her (their) heart ain't healing so she can only come to the conclusion that the doctor gave her bad advice. Luckily, the song ends before she can file a malpractice suit, or before all four Mystic Zephyrs descend on the Doctor with hypodermic needles like those freaky Little Sisters at the end of Bioshock. Oh...my...hands! They're...covered...in...blood!
As for "Youth Quake," just remember the chorus. "We're a Youth Quake! We're a Youth Quake, yeah!" Now imagine four girls singing it in unison in the hallways of the Overlook Hotel. Pleasant dreams, everyone.



THE SQUID POP METER SEZ: Redrum, redrum.
BEST TAKEN WITH: Sleeping pills and a momentary loss of muscular coordination.

WELCOME TO MY HEAD.

My head would have a few more cheerleaders in it.

ZOOT MONEY "WELCOME TO MY HEAD" (Capitol, 1969)

Zoot marches on, as the liner notes to his 1969 album Welcome to My Head proclaim. He started out as leader of the Zoot Money Big Roll Band, which became “a rut” in 1967, so he got a new band, legendary British psychsters Dantalion’s Chariot, better known as Police guitarist Andy Summer’s first band. They were “innovate, psychedelic and together,” the liner notes claim. “So was Zoot.” When the Chariot failed to catch fire, Zoot once again left – this time joining up with the psychedelic late Sixties Animals. “Only a Zoot Money could out-charisma an Eric Burdon,” say the less-than-humble notes again, but neglect to mention that only an Eric Burdon could decide to break up his white psych rock band in search of something much funkier (War). Oh well. As they say, “Zoot marches on.” And this is Zoot on his own. Welcome to his head, man.




Okay, not completely alone - he brought along Vic Briggs from the Animals to produce and arrange, and that, it turns out, was a wise decision. Together, Zoot and Vic created a dreamy orchestrated popsike MASTERPIECE that, amazingly, still hasn’t been reissued. Yet if you hold this album up to any of the more beloved, revered British popsike records of the late 60’s – World of Oz, Skip Bifferty, Pretty Things – it’ll hold its own, thank you very much. It’s more sweeping, grand and majestic than the Chariot or the Animals – thanks to Vic’s string arrangements – whether Zoot’s creating big orchestrated pop moments or overpowering heavy guitar riffs.

So what exactly WAS bouncing off Zoot’s cerebellum in 1969, you ask? The grand British dreampop of “The Man Who Rides the Wind” recalls the World of Oz, Peter Lee Stirling or the early Bee Gees, and is supposedly dedicated to either Tibetan Yogi Jetsun Milarepa or Jimi Hendrix, depending on who you ask. Just don’t ask me - I always get those two mixed up. “You’ve Got to Believe It” is a memorable slice of catchy brass pop with a positively soaring chorus that rises up about a foot off the surface of the black grooves each time it plays. And the absolutely PERFECT lounge jazz freakbeat pop of “The Decision Hour” is a quintessentially Austin Powers slice of British soundtrack grooviness, baby, a long-lost outtake from the sessions to Bedazzled, complete with dolly bird backing vocals from mini-skirt thigh-high-boot heaven. It should come with its own liquid slides.

But the real highlight of Zoot’s psychedelic medulla oblongata has to be the punishing “Eight is the Color,” an absolute MONSTER of a jagged freakbeat guitar riff that takes its cues from George’s “Taxman” and then plays it with the fierce, double-and-triple tracked speaker-shredding abandon of 1970 King Crimson. It’s heavy enough to make Cream sound like the Critters, or the Jetsun Milarepa Experience sound like Spanky and Our Gang. And this right after a soothing slice of soft pop. Must be a left brain/right brain kinda thing.

Sadly, Welcome to My Head, despite its brilliance, didn’t make Zoot into an international pop star, and so his solo career went on hold until 1980’s Mr. Money. But in between, Zoot kept himself busy with various projects, including Centipede, Kevin Coyne and Kevin Ayers. He’s even got an acting career on the side. Zoot marches on.



SQUID POP METER SEZ: 7 out of 10
BEST SERVED WITH: Ritalin, Potassium and Head Cheese