The Pretty Things – S.F. Sorrow (1968)

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S.F. Sorrow
Studio Album by The Pretty Things

Columbia, December 1968
41 minutes

Track List: 1) S.F. Sorrow Is Born 2) Bracelets of Fingers 3) She Says Good Morning 4) Private Sorrow 5) Balloon Burning 6) Death 7) Baron Saturday 8) The Journey 9) I See You 10) Well of Destiny 11) Trust 12) Old Man Going 13) Loneliest Person

My Rating: 6/10

I’m more familiar with the smell of burning marijuana than I’d like to be.

I mean, sure, it’s nice to be able to identify the odor (in order to steer clear of it), but it’s one of the more unpleasant scents – not unlike smoldering rubber or singed hair. It’s not that I have any issues with marijuana smoking, I just find it hard to believe that so many people enjoy inhaling something with such an awful smell. But I suppose people like it for reasons beyond its scent. Not that I know what being high feels like.

Don’t get me wrong, though – I’ve smoked marijuana. I think most everybody over the age of 18 has inhaled some of the smelly stuff, and a lot of those who try it adopt getting high as a kind of lifestyle, adorning themselves and their homes with, well, stupid shit that people buy when they’re buzzed. When I tried marijuana, I got … thirsty. And that was the extent of the effect. Looking back, I don’t think I tried marijuana because I wanted to enjoy it; I just wanted to say I did it once. When I look around at people who enjoy smoking Mary Jane (or whatever the hip kids call it), I see unmet potential. I see smoothed edges. I see, well, losers.

There are dozens of reasons why I don’t want to get into drugs. I don’t want to make things with beads. I don’t want long hair. I don’t want useless assholes for friends. And most importantly, I don’t want to smell that stuff any more than I have already. Yeesh.

And, *ahem,* speaking of marijuana, I’m guessing the hashish haze was pretty thick in 1968. And I’m going to go ahead and assume that the members of The Pretty Things were drug enthusiasts. There really isn’t any other way to explain how something like S.F. Sorrow could have happened. Okay, so LSD was most likely their drug of choice, but I wanted to talk about marijuana in my review and I did and now here we are. Deal with it, yo.

From left to right: Fromatosis, Grumps McLumps, Sideburns, "Dude, I'm on a trash can, take the picture", and Professor Wastoid.

A lot of online music critics (read: herp derp) talk about The Pretty Things like they actually mattered. They say things like “The Pretty Things are the most underrated British Invasion band everrrrrrr,” and “S.F. Sorrow was the first rock opera, and The Who and Pink Floyd can suck it!” While I agree that S.F. Sorrow is the first “rock opera,” I really don’t think it had an incredible amount to do with any rock operas or concept albums that were released in its wake. Like, maybe Pete Townshend listened to it once. Maybe. But most likely, he thought up Tommy while using the same kind of drugs Brian May and co. were using when they dreamed up the tale of S.F. Sorrow. Incredibly fucked-up minds think alike, kids. Which is why people who try LSD always end up in jam bands. That’s why there are so many goddamn jam bands. Drug PSAs should consist of a short clip of Phish playing live. Trust me, no one wants to be Phish.

But underrated or not, The Pretty Things managed to make some interesting music – not great music or competent music, but interesting music nonetheless. As a whole, S.F. Sorrow is definitely some kind of statement about the meaning of life and such, but Brian May (lead singer, head songwriter, bead enthusiast) was a much better vocalist than he was a storyteller, leaving much to be desired when it comes to the album’s supposed “plot,” which can be explained in a few sentences: A dude named S.F. Sorrow is born, falls in love, then watches his love die in a blimp accident. This makes him super depressed and withdrawn, so he decides to journey to the underworld because, hey, that’s a cheerful place. Once there, he takes a tour of his own subconscious and discovers a terrible truth: No one can be trusted, so the best thing to do is just be alone and miserable and never talk to anyone EVER AGAIN. The end.

Just think: This used to be cool.

Super story, right? Don’t worry, the music is markedly less emo. The highlights are mostly bunched onto the first half of the record, and include “Bracelets of Fingers” (beautiful harmonies matched with epic-sounding percussion and a memorable verse melody), “She Says Good Morning” (A simple, uninhibited rocker with a big smile on its face), and “Balloon Burning” (Feverish, driving rock with a cool bassline added for good measure). The second half wanes a bit, offering stuff like “The Journey” (uninteresting in every way), “Well of Destiny” (an incredibly dated and embarrassing instrumental track), and “Trust” (silly lyrics and a repetitive melody). On the other hand, though, “Loneliest Person” is somewhat catchy, and would be one of the best tracks on the album if it wasn’t only a minute and a half long and didn’t end with an unintentionally hilarious lyric.

The song quality ebbs and flows, but the album as a whole is a perfectly listenable slice of ’60s psychedelia – Something to listen to when one has run out of Pink Floyd, I suppose. S.F. Sorrow is really mostly a curiosity, an album more fun to write about than to actually experience. But hey, some people love it. Those same people probably make things with beads and drink herbal tea.

It’s probably just a taste thing.

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Links:

Amazon – S.F. Sorrow MP3 Download
Amazon – S.F. Sorrow CD
Wikipedia – S.F. Sorrow
YouTube – “Bracelets of Fingers,” Album Version
YouTube – “She Says Good Morning,” Album Version

Oh, Sweet Summer

The band I most associate with summer.

This blog is going on hiatus. Kind of. Well, it’s going on hiatus if “hiatus” means “random breaks.” Like, I’m not totally leaving for three months, but I won’t be posting regularly at all.

And there I went, making what should have been a straightforward statement very awkward.

Honestly though, I won’t post as often this summer, but posts will hopefully be added every once in a while.

So have a summer, people. Listen to something good for me.

Arcade Fire with The National, 4/20/11

I’m not someone who goes to tons of concerts. The last real concert I went to was . . well, I’d rather not say. It’d be embarrassing for you to know. Nevertheless, when Arcade Fire swung through Kansas City on Wednesday, I knew I had to get tickets.

The Starlight Theatre is a pretty impressive outdoor something-or-other that was built almost 100 years ago but has been refurnished with new seating and other fun odds and ends much more recently. But the main attraction was Arcade Fire, the seven (well, technically eight) piece band from Canada, fresh off their Grammy win for Album of the Year.

Look, I’ve been a fan of the band since early 2008, but I really had no idea of the kind of emotional, resonant, and transcendent power they’re able to bring to the stage. Well, okay, that’s a bit of a lie – I’ve lurked on the Us Kids Know forums for countless hours and read accounts of amazing live shows. I’ve watched more live videos of Arcade Fire than I’ve watched live videos of all other bands combined and I’ve even looked through setlists, imagining myself actually being there, partaking in the awesome might of Win, Régine and the rest of the ensemble playing all of my favorite songs.

Well, now I’ve been there. It was what I expected – and that’s both good and bad. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the band was perfect in every way. They were beyond perfect. It was the crowd that needed improvement.

I know that you’ve already paid for your ticket and bought your hot dogs and alcohol, but any decent concert requires audience participation. When a barbershop quartet is headlining, you bob your heads politely, clap between songs, and laugh at the lousy jokes. When you’re watching a play, put your cell phones away and keep your eyes on the stage. When an energetic band like Arcade Fire is on stage, you either move to the music or move to the back.

Arcade Fire is a band that loves to perform live. They genuinely love getting on stage and playing their songs night after night to huge crowds of people. They love it because most people in attendance obviously care about the music. When a sea of people is dancing to a song you wrote, you tend to play it as well as you can. Audience participation makes the show better. Which is why standing with your hands in your pockets tends to make you look like an unappreciative asshole.

The National began playing at 7:30 to mostly empty seats. People were showing up as late as possible, probably due to thoughts like “Who are The National? I’m only interested in Arcade Fire.” These people either didn’t care that they were missing out on a second great band or they weren’t aware that Arcade Fire invites some pretty amazing bands to open for them. Either way, The National played a great set, comprised mostly of songs from Boxer, their critically-acclaimed 2007 release. Lead singer Matt Berninger sang his compositions with a passionate voice, a unique baritone that sets the band apart from others of the same ilk. The guitar attack was powerful and incredibly emotional, and yet … it seemed like barely anyone was really watching. My friend and I were swaying as hard as we could amidst a group of bored-looking hipsters, some decked out in comfy-looking Arcade Fire sweatshirts, obviously waiting for the main attraction to show up. I’m a rabid Arcade Fire fan, but The National could have gone on for another half hour without any complaints from me – I guess I’m just wired to enjoy things.

As for me and my friend, our dancing was rewarded when we were invited into the VIP section, much closer to the stage, as those standing with their hands in their pockets remained where they were, content to ponder much more important subjects, like what kinds of toppings they want on their hot dogs. The group of girls in front of us really could have used some dancing. Can you say “Moo”?

So there we were, a few rows back from the stage, when Arcade Fire walked out, grinning and waving, eager to play their hearts out. I can’t put into words the enthusiasm they have for their songs. “Month of May,” one of their fastest and loudest songs, came first, and they literally caused a few spectators to step back a little. You could be deaf and get the gist of the performance – With Arcade Fire, a lot of their music’s power lies in how they perform it. Régine and Jeremy switch off drumming duties to great effect. Will seems to float a foot off the ground at all times, his hair flopping up and down to the beat. Sarah Neufeld and Marika Shaw grind at their violins until they look ready to pass out. This is a band that believes in the music they’re playing, and knows that many in the crowd do, too.

I spent most of the concert jumping up and down and yelling song lyrics like a ten-year-old on a trampoline. The people around me (sans Rebecca, my energetic Arcade Fire-loving cohort) either swayed a little or stood with crossed arms and bored faces. Honestly though, I didn’t care about their obvious lack of life while the band was playing.

The highlights (for me, at least) were “Rebellion (Lies),” “No Cars Go,” “Haiti,” “Neighborhood #4,” and aw, screw it, everything they played was amazing. I didn’t have a voice to sing the chorus of “Wake Up” near the end as a result of yelling out ever word along with Win and Régine (even some of the French ones). At every chance I got, I interacted with the band, screaming “No Go!” at the right moment during “No Cars Go” and “We Found a Light” during “Neighborhood #3.” I’m not telling you this to impress you with my knowledge of every song they played – I’ve just waited two years to yell those phrases out during the songs, and I want to remind myself as many times as possible that I finally got to do it.

Basically, it was an unforgettable experience. One that I would love to have happen again as soon as possible. But nevertheless, I’m still torked about those in the crowd who stood around like zombies, trying to act as cool as they possibly could. I’m just glad I’m not half as dull as they are. And for most of the set, I completely forgot about them, focusing on the ecstatic faces of Arcade Fire, a band that not only appeals to my ears, but also to my heart. A band that refuses to be boring. A band that, against all odds, is winning people over all around the world.

So, those of you with your arms folded tight over your chests, it sucks to be you. If you can’t dance to Arcade Fire, can you dance to anything at all?