This one came as a total surprise package to this reviewer. On
reading their unexpectedly extensive Wikipedia entry I found that they’d
played at Woodstock despite being an unrecorded act; that they were a
popular regional attraction around Boston and the northeast; and that
virtually all of them were multi-instrumentalists with a penchant for
swapping the instruments around onstage: guitarists and keyboardists
switching to horns, woodwind or cellos at the drop of a setlist.
The Woodstock slot came courtesy of a well-received appearance in
NYC, and on hearing of their impending festival appearance with its film
and live album potential, Ahmet Ertegun signed Quill to Atlantic’s
Cotillion subsidiary in the summer of ’69. The non-appearance of the
band’s set in the Woodstock movie contributed to the label losing
interest and the band’s insistence on producing the debut album
themselves didn’t particularly help their cause with Ertegun either.
Although it was released the following year it received next to no
corporate support and quickly stiffed. Like many another unsuccessful
opus of the period it lay doggo for decades until resuscitated for CD
reissue by the excellent Wounded Bird imprint in 2010.
The music itself is also surprising, distinctively and wilfully
strange, somewhere between the Doors and early British prog-rock. The
band members are all credited under wigged-out pseudonyms,
Beefheart-style, and the compositions themselves have similarly wacky
titles. Sonically, it’s sparsely realised despite the multifarious
talents of the musicians, populated by barely-audible organs and pianos
and mixed-back guitars and drums – the most prominent instrument is
often the bass guitar. The arrangements are of the apparently loose,
adlibbed type that can only result from the most meticulous
orchestration and rehearsal. The lyrics are far from the usual hippie
abandon of the day, laden with social commentary, and the backings are
full of irregular chord sequences and modulations. There’s no telling
where it’s going from one track to the next, or sometimes within any
given track.
After an unpromising raggedy-ass intro, the opening “Thumbnail
Screwdriver” builds around a catchy Hendrixoid guitar riff and features a
chiming solo by harmonised guitars. The nine-minute “They Live The
Life” is a minimalist shuffle with warped Moody Blues harmonies and a
sparse drum solo which builds into a collapsing cacophony of chanting
and percussion, apparently a favourite concert closer. “BBY” showcases
the alternative horn skills of the players and comes over like Zappa
bowdlerising Chicago, while “Yellow Butterfly” uses only flanged, wah-ed
guitar and sparse bass and has ghostly vocals redolent of Syd Barrett.
The closing “Shrieking Finally” opens with a droll mock Gregorian chant
which leads into a fragmented prog workout with distinctive piano
trimmings. Although all the musicianship is excellent, it’s probably
Roger North’s inventive and technically adroit drumming that stays
longest in the memory.
It’s all wacky and it all works. You won’t whistle the melodies as
you walk down the street, but without doubt this is another rarity that
deserves its rediscovery.
(source)