Folk? Soul? Pop? Rock? I don't know, I just know I REALLY like it. The sole album by this mysterious duo (Alzo's got a solo album too) is the very definition of groovy. This song, like the rest of the record, is hard to describe, but let's just imagine a funkier version of the 60s Bee Gees crossed with, I don't know, Donovan? No, maybe the Rascals crossed with Jose Feliciano and Joe Bataan is closer to it. It totally works, especially when they get to the falsetto chorus of "Everybody feel iiiiit......come on and clap your hands!" People, find this record: it will improve your life!
This whole album is a masterpiece, but "Blow Up" is a track that should definitely be better known. It's a vibes-piano-bass-drums quartet session with Herbie on piano that inexplicably was never released at the time, only in Japan over a decade later. It was available on CD for a while in the early 90s, but has since been deleted. The track builds on a steady, understated 4/4 groove anchored heavy bass and creative drumming courtesy of Joe Chambers. Eight minutes of relaxed heaven, with messrs. Hutcherson and Hancock engaging in sublime vibes/piano dialogue over a very catchy theme. Seek out this album any way you can!
For me this is Youngs most delectible ballad. It makes me shiver. Orchestral country is a seam which has not been mined enough. The spirit of the song will strike a deep resonance with anyone young enough to feel childlike wonder but old enough to feel regret.
A Northern soul classic. I don't go a great bundle on northern usually, a bit stiff and strict tempo for me. This however sweats and creaks like the best Nashville Teens song you never heard with three PP Arnolds on vocals and a vibrato laden farfisa. Best lyrics ever as well, natch.
12 Jan 05 ·OneCharmingBastard: What a great tune I just discovered thanks to this site ~ now that's what sites like this are supposed to do!
At odds with his two fold reputation as a folk-baroque balladeer and avant garde explorer Buckley turns in a tortured ballad worthy of the Reverend Al Green. Imagine a libidinously charged Astral Weeks and you're part way there.