Gary Higgins Reissue & Another Psychedelic Genius.

This long-lost slice of 1970's folk psychedelia sounds as fresh and innovative as anything on Devendra Banhart's Golden Apples of the Sun compilation. Recorded in 1973, in a brief interval before bearded folkie Gary Higgins had to show up for a two-year prison stint for pot possession, the disc has languished in obscurity for more than 20 years. Traded copies have passed from hand to hand, winning converts like David Tibet of Current 93 and Ben Chasny of Six Organs of Admittance (who covered "Thicker than a Smokey" on this year's School of the Flower). Songs from Red Hash have also made appearances on influential freeform radio stations like WFMU. However, despite a constant murmur of accolades, Higgins was, until recently, more of a rumor than an actual experience for most people. With this reissue, he emerges from his Rip Van Winkle sleep fully justifying the word of mouth. Red Hash is simply one of the loveliest free folk records you'll hear this year or any other. Like all the music in its genre, it evokes timeless, serene pastoral simplicity. The chords mutate effortlessly, major to minor, in patterns that evoke pre-industrial folk songs as much as 1960s psychedelia. The melodies are wholly natural, never forced, breathed against droning, twining, Eastern-tinged strings.

Darker and more mysterious than Vashti Bunyan's work, and somehow grimmer than The Incredible String Band, Higgins's songs shimmer with suppressed emotion. Consider the discordant strumming that opens "Cuckoo" - it's as claustrophobic and anxious as acoustic music can be. "I've really gone insane," Higgins sings, "Can't even spell my name. The cuckoo is in pain again." With a little amplification and distortion, it could be a grunge song. It's that raw.

However, unlike most grunge songs, "Cuckoo" and the other songs on Red Hash are played with extraordinary musicianship - not just by Higgins, but guitarist Jake Bell (later of Silver Apples), pianist Terry Fenton, mandolin player and flautist Paul Tierney, cellist Maureen Wells and bassist Dave Beaujon. The delicate mandolin that leads into "I Pick Notes from the Sky" merges effortlessly with the strummed guitar and plangent piano notes. The flute and cello in "Windy Child" lend an additional note of sadness to an already heartbreaking song. The weird, blues-flavored "Down on the Farm", a premonition of Tom Waits if ever you heard one, would not be as compelling without the eccentric drum rhythms beneath it.

The disc supplements the 1973 recording with two additional tracks. "Don't Ya Know", laid down in the 1980s, is more overtly blues-based than the original materials and feels more conventional, yet it has a light-handed, boogie-flavored charm. "The Last Great Sperm Whale" was recorded in 1975, two years after the bulk of the album - and, presumably, after Higgins got out of jail. "Well, the last great sperm whale, as soon as he was free, tore another mermaid's skirt off saying let us talk, let us talk to thee," the song begins, and though it celebrates freedom, it ends in the whale's death. Higgins's story looks to have a better ending. He's said to be putting together a band and heading out, ISB-style, to meet the next generation of fans. If you're not the kind of person who gets burned CDs from Ben Chasny, or whose collection of private-press 1970s folk is alphabetized and in mint condition, here's your chance to catch up on a long-forgotten genius of free folk.

(Review By Splendid Magazine)

"Red Hash" 1973 - 2005

Higgins Page At Drag City

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And If U Like Mr. Higgins Don't Miss That One >

Alexander 'Skip' Spence

Like a rough, more obscure counterpart to Syd Barrett, Skip Spence was one of the late '60s' most colorful acid casualties. The original Jefferson Airplane drummer (although he was a guitarist who had never played drums before joining the group), Spence left after their first album to join Moby Grape. Like every member of that legendary band, he was a strong presence on their first album, playing guitar, singing, and writing "Omaha." The group ran into rough times in 1968, and Spence had the roughest, flipping out and (according to varying accounts) running amok in a record studio with a fire axe; he ended up being committed to New York's Bellevue Hospital. Upon his release, Spence cut an acid-charred classic, Oar, in 1969. Though released on a major label (Columbia), this was reportedly one of the lowest-selling items in its catalog and is hence one of the most valued psychedelic collector items. Much rawer and more homespun than the early Grape records, it features Spence on all (mostly acoustic) guitars, percussion, and vocals. With an overriding blues influence and doses of country, gospel, and acid freakout thrown in, this sounds something like Mississippi Fred McDowell imbued with the spirit of Haight-Ashbury 1967. It also featured cryptic, punning lyrics and wraithlike vocals that range from a low Fred Neil with gravel hoarseness to a barely there high wisp. Sadly, it was his only solo recording; more sadly, mental illness prevented Spence from reaching a fully functional state throughout the remainder of his lifetime. He died April 16, 1999, just two days short of his 54th birthday; the tribute album, More Oar: A Tribute to Alexander "Skip" Spence, featuring performances by Robert Plant, Beck, and Tom Waits, appeared just a few weeks later. (Description By AMG)

"Oar" 1969

No one except psychedelic Renaissance man Alexander "Skippy" Spence could have created an album such as Oar. Alternately heralded as a "soundtrack to schizophrenia" and a "visionary solo effort," Oar became delegated to cut out and bargain bins shortly after its release in the spring of 1969. However those who did hear it were instantly drawn into Spence's inimitable sonic surrealism. As his illustrious past in the Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messenger Service, and Moby Grape would suggest, this album is a pastiche of folk and rock. In reality, however, while these original compositions may draw from those genres, each song has the individuality of a fingerprint. As a solo recording, Oar is paramount as Spence performed and produced every sound on the album himself at Columbia Records studios in Nashville in the space of less than two weeks. This burst of creativity was directly preceded by a six month incarceration in New York City's Bellevue Hospital after chopping down a door at the Albert Hotel en route to do the same to fellow Moby Grape members Jerry Miller and Don Stevenson. A common motif to this album is the presence of saints and demons. Even the straightforward narratives such as the love ballad "Broken Heart" or "Cripple Creek" -- which feature vocal treatments reminiscent of folkie Fred Neil -- are bathed in unusual chord sequences and lyrical double-entendre. The majority of the sounds on this long-player remain teetering near the precipice of sanity. Primary examples include "War in Peace," the epic "Grey/Afro," and the sound effect-laden "Books of Moses." Comparisons have been made to Syd Barrett, John Lennon, and Frank Zappa -- the latter especially for the intense sonic collage techniques displayed on albums such as Lumpy Gravy and Civilization Phase III. In 1999, Sundazed Music issued what is considered the final word on Oar, which has been remastered and boasts over 20 minutes of additional material prepared by Spence. The album's lasting legacy is also captured on an all-star tribute CD to Spence titled More Oar.
(Review By AMG)

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