Album Reviews

Presaging the "Christian rock" phenomenon of the 1990's, this Farfisa-filled fire and brimstone exercise in religious guilt asks where you will hide when Armageddon happens and your personal judgment day is at hand.

Most of the time when obscurities from the 1960's get dredged up, one listen and the reason for their obscurity becomes obvious.

That's the case here, on this thankfully short bit of unintentionally hilarious and pretentious bit of nonsense.

I can't say I didn't enjoy listening to this album more times than I thought I would. Listening brought back memories of the tumultuous, exciting times in which this was produced.

The rawness of the musical concept and the simplicity (or amateurness) of the production, the uncontrolled screaming (mixed in with corny operatic vibrato) and raw passion of the lead singer and just the messiness of the whole affair add up to a pleasurable, almost voyeuristic experience, as the fuzz-guitarist cuts loose with melodramatic Arabic scales and the engineer bathes the singers in gobs of reverb.

The album begins with a sound effect intended to convey Armageddon but instead will remind older listeners of George Reeves flying through the air as Superman.

Then the lead singer starts yelping "Where will you be on the day of Armageddon?" Get past that repeated lyric (not to mention "Will you climb under a rock?") and you have a ragged quartet of bass, drums, Farfisa organ and a really cool fuzz-toned guitar that is archetypal for the era, though these guys can't really write structured songs, nor can they really write lyrics, nor can they sing nor can they do much that's musical for more than a few bars at a time.

The lead singer clearly is coming off a serious guilt trip. He sings "I feel so bad, the world makes me sad, all the people are glad, I feel so bad. I've got something to say, don't have to listen, don't have to pay, just to hear me say I feel bad."

If that doesn't make you chuckle I don't know what might.

The jacket includes a quote from Plato's "The Republic" in which the philosopher states that the only poetry that should be admitted to the state are "..hymns to the Gods and praises of famous men..." and that allowing the "honeyed muse to enter..." then "...pleasure and pain will be the rulers in our State."

This album is like the right wing answer to Eve of Destruction," "The Dawn of Correction," and equally unintentionally humorous.

It's also like a very, very, very bad version of The Doors first album.

While Sundazed's price of admission is very reasonable for 180 grams of this, it's only recommended for the very curious and to those commited to owning every artyfact of '60s psychedelia.

I realize this is among the more disjointed, disorganized reviews ever written on this site, but given the subject matter, it's only appropriate.

Still, I'm glad Sundazed issued this and if you have a keen sense of musical humor (unintentional though the humor is), you'll really enjoy this. No kidding!

Some projects are so bad, they're good. This one is so bad, it's bad. And that's why it's good.