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Product Description
Gear Fab's Psychedelic States series, which collects vintage '60s garage rock singles on a regional, state-by-state basis, affords an utterly fascinating look into a time in the U.S. when every basement and garage seemed to have a band rehearsing in it, the visible (and audible) explosion of a true suburban folk movement. Most of the rare and regional singles included in these compilations are badly recorded, poorly performed, and clichéd and derivative at almost every level, which, of course, is probably why they're so prized by collectors. This volume, which spotlights the raw, fuzzed-out garage bands of New York, is heavy on spirit and energy but runs pretty low on originality (and even lower on recorded sound quality -- some of these sides sound like field recordings of giant buzzing insects). The fun here is in the verve and unabashed audacity of these bands. Tracks like "Tripsy" by Pebble Episode, the perhaps foolishly optimistic "We Got Time" by the Tweeds, and "Doctor Friend" (which contains the unbelievable line "I know you've never studied medicine as such.") by the Druids are long on punk conviction and delightfully trashy execution, but decidedly short on nuance and polish. Then there's the track "Destruction," which is chock-full of spooky organ, but is worth hearing mostly because the band had the inspired or, more likely, insane idea of calling themselves the Thrashing Butterflys of Divine Happiness. It was a heady time. Nothing gathered here could be deemed essential outside of the historical phenomenon of the '60s garage band explosion, which is often more fun to ponder than actually listen to, when all is said and done. That Gear Fab is making this stuff available is marvelous, though, not so much because a perfect lost rock gem might turn up one day on one of these collections (it doesn't seem likely), but because this is really the sound of suburban America singing circa 1965-1967. It's folk music of a sort, the voice of a national community that had no idea it was a community. It didn't matter if you were a garage band in Arkansas or Indiana, Boston or San Diego, or in this case, New York. Come Saturday night you plugged in, turned up, and pretended it was Shea Stadium. It may have been history on a very small stage, but it was history, and it rattled plenty of windowpanes. ~ Steve Leggett
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