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1970 is a year usually overlooked in pop histories: if it’s considered at all, it’s as a pause between hippie and glam. It was a year of death, of Sixties’ break up – the year when John Lennon delivered his famous curse, ‘the dream is over’, then gave it a further kicking in the his mammoth Rolling Stone interview (later published in book form as “Lennon Remembers”). Decadism is an illusion, but it also concentrates the mind: internalising the shift between 6 and 7, all the major counter-cultural players (Beatles, Stones, Dylan) filled the year with recantation, retrenchment or withdrawal.

There is another way of reading 1970. This was the year when two styles which had been bubbling under for years finally went public: country rock and singer songwriters. These are not fashionable today, nor have been since Punk, and there are good reasons for this, at least in the perception of those who had to suffer the mush into which both genres had degenerated by the mid/ late 70′s. Despite some genuine appeal, there is much in the Eagles and James Taylor that is difficult to stomach: I think it comes down to an ineffable smugness.

In 1970, however, both styles were still a creative reaction to psychedelic burn-out: and this was still a period of rock rather than pop. Listening to the early work of singer-songwriters as diverse as Cat Stevens, Loudun Wainwright III, and post-pop Donovan, you can hear either a real freshness (in Robert Christgau’s contemporary phrase, ‘a nice post-creative-trauma feel’) or an identification with the underdog that comes from the roots of the s/s phenom – the post-Beat folkie boom of the mid-60′s. The emblematic figure of the year was the outcast, the loser: an attitude distilled by Rod Stewart’s great reading of Dylan’s “Only A Hobo”. In this, the instrument of the year was the fiddle: Guitars were acoustic and wah-wah.

People went for country rock because the country was now THE pop location – both in terms of nature mysticism (most charmingly applied by Donovan and the English folk-rock revival) and the Marin County principle: the city’s a bummer, it’s polluted, you’ll get your head busted by the pigs, get your head together where the air is free. In this, there is of course the germ of an ecological awareness which remains one of the best things about the whole hippie movement, and in case you think that I’m going to sneer at hippie passivity, I have one short word for you: “Ohio” – one of the most powerful protest songs ever recorded. Teens were battered, even killed, for their beliefs then.

Gram Parsons, the Byrds and the Band had been working on the country rock fusion since 1966/7; Dylan put a powerful oar in with “John Wesley Harding” and “Nashville Skyline”, but it was the Californian version as supplied by Crosby, Stills and Nash from mid-69 on – soaring harmonies, a cloying tendency, especially if Y wasn’t around – that began to dominate this developing style. The new look Dead exhibited a strong CSN influence on their two albums that year: “Workingman’s Dead” and “American Beauty”. Jefferson Airplane even quoted the bible in “Good Shepherd”, a pause in the fevered rhetoric of “Volunteers”.

There is a pervasive sense of sadness and loss in this year, that makes this aesthetic and cultural retrenchment understandable: who could foresee that, within months, sentiment would turn into sentimentality? What there wasn’t much of in 1970 was hard rock. To be sure, the MC5 and the Stooges were hurling their fury at the world, but very few people heard them then. The rock that was hard was heavy – indigestible fare likeBlack Sabbath and Deep Purple: anyway, the Sabs were pussies next to “Sister Ray”. In late 1971, I found my own salvation from this particular deadlock – the 5 and the Groovies – but in 1970 I did not rock: like many others, I dreamed of country light and space.

A compilation note: this is not a total overview of 1970, but a personal record of the songs that moved me that year. You will note that there is no Soul, no mainstream Pop, no Reggae – and this in the year of fantastic records like “Mr.Brown” and “Double Barrel” – but that’s what I was in 1970, a rock seven-teen, haunting the record shops of central London. I couldn’t easily justify some of these songs to someone hearing them for the first time today, but they represent a principal law of teenage record buying: you spend a lot of money on a record that you’re not sure you like, so you play the damn thing until you do like it, and then it becomes part of your life.

SIDE 1

1: Love, Everlasting First (3.03)
[from False Start (Harvest) 1970]

The disintegration blues, from a group, a talent, and a guest guitarist unravelling before your ears: a scrap of lyric bookended by a wah-wah explosion – courtesy of Jimi Hendrix, who has rarely sounded more skittish. Beneath the chaos, an authentic expression of black anger: ‘So you killed Jesus/ You killed Abraham too/ You killed Martin/ What you here to do ?/ Now we’re going to play you the feelings that they all left behind…OH! YOU MAKE ME HURT SO BAD!’

2: Steve Miller, Going to the Country (3.13)
[from Steve Miller Number 5 (Capitol) 1970]

San Francisco’s greatest schlockmeister sums up the mood of the moment: ‘Gonna leave the city it’s a crime and a shame/ People in the city are going insane’. An irresistable tune, well integrated production (12 string, fiddle, harmonica by Charlie McCoy), and spacey fade sweep you past the frequent lyrical banalities.

3: Creedence Clearwater Revival, Up Around the Bend (2.40)
[from Cosmo's Factory (Fantasy) 1970]

One of the greatest runaway songs ever, from a songwriter and a group at the top of their craft: ‘Hitch a ride to the end of the highway, where the neons turn to wood’. Again, the escape to the country, but rarely expressed with such propulsion: alone among their Bay Area contemporaries, Creedence reserved their right to rock.

4: The Doors, Peacefrog (2.52)
[from Morrison Hotel (Elektra) 1970]

A central Doors song from the album with the Skid Row sleeve.Right from the opening wah-wah stutter, Jim preaches riot and revolution, culminating in a great final verse: ‘Blood in the streets in the town of New Haven/ Blood stains the roots and the palm trees of Venice/ Bloody my love in the terrible summer/ Bloody red sun of fantastic LA.’ In the break, some primal poet-tasting: ‘Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding/Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile egg-shell mind’.

5: Guess Who, American Woman (3.51)
[single (RCA) 1970]

A proper Punk move, rare this year, as the American Woman of the title, becomes, in the hands of these Canadians, a metaphor for US cultural imperialism: ‘I don’t need your war machines/ I don’t need your ghetto scenes/ Coloured lights can hypnotise/ Sparkle in someone else’s eyes’. The length, and superfuzz Clapton-style solo are not punk: the misogyny and guitar riff are.

6: The Grateful Dead, Uncle John’s Band (4.36)
[single (Warner Brothers) 1970]

Space exploration curtailed, the Dead retrenched into harmony and acoustic guitars – a stabilising force in the chaos that continued to surround them. This is the real start of the Dead as American myth; no lyric is more descriptive of a return to basic values than their simple question: ‘What I want to know is, are you kind?’

7: The Byrds, Tulsa County Blue (2.48)
[from The Ballad of Easy Rider (CBS) 1970]

McGuinn’s voice – still pitched somewhere between John Lennon and Bob Dylan – has rarely been more effective than on this lost cut from a patchy record: a country hit for June Carter spaced out by some great backup vocals and country guitar from Clarence White. Again, more loss and dislocation: ‘I don’t know just where I’ll go/ I believe I’ll ride it down to Mexico’.

8: Big Brother and the Holding Company, Heartache People (6.53)
[from Be A Brother (CBS)]

Released just before Janis’ death, with Butterfield Blues Band alumnus Nick Gravenites taking her place, “Be A Brother” shows high San Franciscan style at the end of its tether: curdling into fonky workouts and dippy pieties. This song, however, confronts the human detritus of post-boom SF, working itself up into a relentless, cumulative rant: ‘They’re gonna wake you up at 4.15 in the morning/ With this crazy wild and haunted look in their eye’. For once, the fiddle – the year’s most overused instrument – really packs a punch.

9: Loudon Wainwright III Black Uncle Remus (2.37)
[from Loudun Wainwright III (Atlantic) 1970]

This was another punk move, with a great sleeve that hinted at blues authenticity and boho anger: Wainwright up against a brick wall, with sensible clothes and the kind of short hair that was a definite statement in 1970. Inside, tunes about winos (“Central Square Song”) and this punkiest of takes on the s/s boom – played with furious attack, perfect timing, and bitter lyrics riffing on Huckleberry Finn”: ‘Whatcha gonna do/ Whatcha gonna do/ When you’re black and blue ?’

10: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Ohio (3.00)
[single (Atlantic) 1970]

On the 4th of May, during a working day on campus, National Guardsmen shot dead four students at Kent State University, Ohio: nine others were wounded. The culmination to years of youth/state conflict, the killings were not only a public scandal – brilliantly unpicked by I.F.Stone’s “The Killings At Kent State” – but a defining moment in US social life. The hottest group in the country that season, CSNY went into the studio the next day, and you can hear the outrage on this savage, impassioned song. Listen to David Crosby break down and HOWL: ‘How many more ?’ Then forget Paul Weller’s tepid live cover.

11: Jefferson Airplane, Good Shepherd (4.26)
[from Volunteers (RCA) 1969]

Not released in the UK until early 1970, this album was overtaken by events: the generational fizz of “We Can Be Together” thoroughly popped by the much-publicised Altamont debacle. Much more suited to the introspective wave that followed was this simple transcription of the bible (Psalm ?), psychedelicised by what may the final appearance of the great acid rock guitar sound. Jorma Kaukonen, this is your tune.

12: Alexander “Skip” Spence, Lawrence of Euphoria (1.26)
[from Oar (CBS Benelux) 1969]

Within the transatlantic time delay that operated at the turn of the decade, some records totally disappeared. This collection of wayward tunes by Moby Grape’s co-founder did not appear in the UK until 1988: that means most of you missed – inter alia – this bizarre nursery rhyme, with its weird characters (Vivienne from Oblivion and her twin sister Ellie May), authentic Dylan wheeze, and fake classical ending.

13: The James Gang, Ashes, the Rain and I (4.36)
[from The James Gang Rides Again (Probe) 1970]

The lyrics are a minimal variation on the old weather trope – ‘Rain/ Again’, ‘Older/ Colder’- but they only last one minute, leaving the bulk of the song open to some great 12-string guitar and an extraordinary, uncredited string arrangement, which, ebbing and falling into infinite space, encapsulates the year’s secret and not-so-secret regrets. Neither the group nor Joe Walsh would ever come close to this again.

Side 2

1: Cat Stevens, Mona Bone Jakon (1.38)
[from Mona Bone Jakon (Island) 1970]

It’s difficult to remember now, but expectation was high for this first, post-teen star Cat Stevens record. All melody and whirring, clicking percussion, this sketch delivers: in its confessional brevity, a perfect encapsulation of the s/s genre. I’m sure Beavis and Butthead would have something to say about what a mona bone jakon is, but Cat’s not telling.

2: Fairport Convention, The Deserter (4.10)
[from Leige and Lief (Island) 1970]

FC ruled during 1969 and 1970, and this was why: definitive folk-rock interpretations of real folk songs – in this case, the mid-19th century lament of a press-ganged deserter. This incarnation of the group could brood until they boiled over, and so they do here, beginning with a simple guitar/violin figure, then winding up the tension over four full minutes before the last verse and Prince Albert’s pardon. Fantastic ensemble playing that takes you into the jaws of death and out again.

3: Traffic, John Barleycorn (6.20)
[from John Barleycorn Must Die (Island) 1970]

In the hands of the Traffic trio, a 15th century popular song becomes a parable on prohibition. The minimal instrumentation – acoustic guitar, piano, flute and percussion – showcases the harmonies and Winwood’s greatest vocal, which carries you through the rustic archaisms, an example of British folk rock at its height.

4: Free, Mr Big (5.54)
[from Fire and Water (Island) 1970]

Island were hot, hot, hot in 1970. This stomper from Free’s breakthrough album (also includes “All Right Now”) shows the group’s mastery of kineticism: that means that they start slow, spacey and minimal, like only they could, and speed up to a whizzing guitar/ bass break. Dazzled by Andy Fraser’s popping bass, you’re more than prepared to overlook the punk protest lyric: ‘So Mr. Big, you’d better watch out/ When only you hang around me/For you, I will dig/ A great big hole in the ground.’

5: Dave Mason, Shouldn’t Have Took More Than You Gave (6.00)
[from Alone Together (Blue Thumb) 1970]

Bringing new life to the acoustic guitar/ piano format, Mason intones his karmic parable – ‘dues’ are mentioned in there: yes, he had moved to the West Coast – until the (uncredited: was it Eric Clapton ?) lead guitarist can stand it no longer: the last couple of minutes are surrendered to a wah-wah explosion that satisfied the rock element in that rock-starved year.

6: Led Zeppelin, Tangerine (3.09)
[from Led Zeppelin III (Atlantic) 1970]

It’s easy to forget that Led Zed were inescapable then: pop, even if they refused to release singles. Not just heavy, they had the light/ shade trick tuned to perfection. In this throwback, written in 1968, the gorgeous, acoustically driven melody and psych teen lyric is bisected by a classic Page solo in the fashionable fuzz mode of the time. From their greatest (Welsh concept) album.

7: The Faces, Flying (4.10)
[single (Warner Brothers) 1970]

Not an obvious choice from these years of Rod (4 albums during 1969/70: all good) but worthy of mention, if only for its droning, descending guitar/ organ riff. The ‘I’m coming home from jail’ lyric is an agreeable loser trope (recently aired on Dave Davies’ great “Lincoln County”) that is Rod’s speciality: waiting for that monster riff to return (relax: it does) keeps you going during a boogie break best described as sludge.

8: Donovan, Song of the Wandering Aengus (3.55)
[B-side, "Celia of the Seals" (Epic) 1970]

Still pop – that clipped, constructed phrasing – Donovan hits the spot, as only he can, with voice and 12-string guitar. Yeats’ famous poem matched to a simple folk melody, this song is a masterpiece of Celtic romanticism (thus updating the author’s original intention in a way he could only have dreamed of) : it reduces the Celt in me to tears.

9: George Harrison, Wah-Wah (5.37)
[from All Things Must Pass (Apple) 1970]

Written, according to Ian McDonald’s “Revolution In The Head”, the day Harrison temporarily left the Beatles in January 1969, Wah Wah is a slightly sanctimonious (this was the year of sanctimony) plaint transformed by George’s liveliest melody and an over-the-top, sax-laden production from Phil Spector. This record both confirmed George as a key member in what Robert Christgau called ‘the new condominium that dominates rock: the I.P.M.C, the International Pop Music Community’ and Spector as the dominant sound of the early 70′s: from “Let It Be” through this and the first two John Lennon solo albums to Wizzard and the rest.

10: Fleetwood Mac, The Green Manalishi (with the Two Prong Crown) (4.35)
[single (Reprise) 1970]

Fleetwood Mac were a huge pop band in 1969/70, with four top ten hits (three of which made the top two). This was the last, for a very good reason: the band disintegrated. You can hear why on this impossibly compressed – four songs in one – rewriting of “Hellhound on my Trail” within a Joe Meek horror mode. Peter Green’s vocal is slightly too committed in this tale of demonic possession – ‘Bustin’ in on my dreams/ Making me things I don’t want to see’ – and his shrieks, as the band churn over and over on the fade – are not lightly heard.

11: John Lennon, My Mummy’s Dead (0.48)
[from John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band (Apple) 1970]

John Lennon’s inner child surfaces in one of the bleakest records ever made. Played on his first instrument, the ukelele, to the tune of “Three Blind Mice”.

Posted on September 23, 2008 at 10:50 pm