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About 20 years ago, I bought a compilation of songs by some of the leading artists of the Finnish rock underground called The Shape of Finns To Come (Cherry Red, 1980). Among the second-tier punk bands like Eppu Normaalli, Top Rank, and Suitcase, and the rudimentary, generic bar band boogie that always seems to be in fashion in Scandinavia, there was a relatively unknown act called Art Pop Combo leading off the collection with a song called "Old Timer." It was a melancholic tale of loneliness about an old man and his discovery that someone had killed his dog, the only real friend he had in the whole world. Somehow, this track has remained engraved in my cerebellum, and every once in a while I pull out the LP and relive some old memories of when I first purchased it (in Amsterdam), along with some out-loud ruminations about whatever happened to that "Sweet-dish" penpal (from Sweden, natch!) that I was so enamored with. Although I never received a picture of her, it seemed strange that she stopped writing right about the time I sent my picture along with her Christmas presents. But that's another story. What all this has to do with the task at hand is that the Art Pop Combo track was the first song that popped into my head while listening to Unosson's debut. In contrast to his gruff, sandpaper grovel, Jens' relaxing demeanor, melancholic turn of phrase, and earthy vibe bathes the listener in a warm, cozy glow... like a few glasses of grog on a cold, Scandinavian night. (You might want to try and track down that comp if you find yourself enjoying this release as much as I did.) The first thing you'll notice out of the gate is Jens' gruff, whispered vocals, resembling a cross between Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, with a tumbler full of Stiff Little Fingers' Jake Burns and Ministry's Al Jourgenson thrown in for good measure (Jens told me that his own bandmates kid him that he "sounds like Tom Waits... on downers"!), although listeners are not likely to be paying much attention to the lyrics (which are included nevertheless). It is curiosity, which will cause fans of Jens' other projects (Holy River Family Band, Cauldron) to hunt this down, and they (and all others) will be richly rewarded. From the sitar backing on the opener, "Fragments," to the blistering solos on "Tomorrow there's another day" and "The hills are all flat now," you will marvel at the guitar wizardry of Arne Jonasson (also from Holy River), one of today's unsung guitar gods. The occasional female backing from Saga adds a welcome respite from Jens' gravelly delivery, and provides a lilting counterpoint on "Tomorrow there's another day," "Sad young man," and and "The sea and the willow tree" that prevents the listener from becoming overly tied down in the aesthetics of Jens' basso profundo. Jonasson's slide on "Tomorrow There's Another Day" will appeal to fans of Clapton and, a little closer to home, Mikael Rickfors, another of those artists I discovered through my Swedish penpal. Several keyboard melody lines bear strong resemblance to Nick Saloman's similar usage of rather cheesy sounding organ runs on his early Bevis Frond LPs, particularly on Gardens. At six minutes, the album's longest track, "Sad Young Man" is about two minutes too long, but you'll still want to stick around to enjoy some of Jonasson's tastier guitar licks. Nostalgia is the theme of "Era Long Gone," and it's surprising how many old hippies are waxing poetic about the good old days, from Saloman (It Won't Come Again) to Neil Young (Mansion on the Hill) and now Unosson, who, of all three, is perhaps the most successful at recreating the atmosphere of sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at album covers (preferably of the gatefold type, of course) and, in fact, the marvelous CD package opens into a gatefold digipack. So if you, too, long for the simpler, gentler, more peaceful days of "eras long gone," by all means hunt this one down, stick it in your walkman, and head off to the nearest field or park and lay down in the tall grass and stare at the cloud formations overhead while Unosson provides the soundtrack to your next trip inside your mind. Although it's been nearly three years since we've been blessed with new material from Jens' mothership, The Spacious Mind, the simultaneous archival releases of a 2-song, 10" EP (recorded November, 2001) and a live gig (from October, 1999) serves as a temporary reprieve for those of us who feared we had lost another of our beloved treasures to the ravages of "musical differences," "conflicting schedules," and, God forbid, "familial responsibilities!" Apparently, the band realized this as well, as the liners to "Reality Blipcrotch" proclaim, "two new songs from a band that in recent years has been traveling down the lazy river road much too often. Not so anymore." While I take exception to their definition of "new," just hearing these year-old tracks is encouraging. The first of the two, 15-minute, sidelong tracks, "The Drifter" begins as an electronic space boogie, riding along the crest of Lundmark's aggressive, rolling bassline, while Oja and Thomas Brännström's dueling guitars serpentine around Unosson's gothic keyboard lines which merge just enough Doors-y Manzarek and Iron Ingle to transport us back to a fog machine-enshrouded Fillmore, ca. 1968. Sleeping Eyes and Butterflies, indeed! A trapdoor fucking exit big enough to drown The Dead C opens midsong, and the bottom falls out leaving us suspended from a cumulous cloud of purple haze, dodging silver shards of electric lightning slashing across the sky, courtesy Oja and Brännström's guitar pyro-techniques, and drifting, as the title and three-line lyric suggest, "from star to star." The lyrics to the flip side, "The Players in the Band," along with Jens' three-page, hand-drawn comic insert, give us the history of the band, which we discover was originally known as The Suspicious Minds until Spacelord (Jens') took them under his wing and renamed them. Fans of Hawkwind's mythological trappings (courtesy sci-fi author, Michael Moorcock) will enjoy reading Jens' account of the early history of the band—more so than reading the lyrics. Like most autobiographical songs, it is long on exposition and short on melody, which merely serves as a skeleton on which to hang the lyrics. However, after the story ends, an ephemeral haze of cymbals, "In-A-Gadda..." keyboards, surging lysergics of electronics, sitars, bells, whistles (flutes), wind chimes, etc. envelops the listener in your basic soundtrack to a trip through the local opium den. Experienced flyers (and Deadheads) may wish to skip the background info and begin their journey here. Those still ensconced in the comic will note that it, tellingly, ends with the unanswered question, "Will there ever be another Spacious Mind album?" The "Stay Tuned" cliffhanger of a response, suggests we may be in store for some groovy times ahead. The last of three simultaneous releases on Spacious Mind's in-house imprint is the first in what will hopefully develop into a lengthy series of live recordings under the banner, "Wilmot Clawson Presents:" (check the liners) that demonstrate the power and majesty of the band better than all their equally impressive, but, of necessity, restrained studio efforts. "Volume One" was recorded in what looks like The White Lodge from David Lynch's "Twin Peaks"—it appears to be an ice hut or hunting lodge covered with ancient triangular symbols in the great alchemical tradition stuck in the middle of the woods in the middle of Sweden in a little commune called Skogsnäs, which takes it rightful place alongside Podunk, Kansas and Bumfuck, Egypt as one of the world's most isolated 'burbs. But in this instance, it's the isolation and remoteness and relief of just getting to the gig that contributes to the sweep and majesty of the seamless, hour-long, five-song set that follows—one of the finest headphone experiences since Lamp of The Universe's Cosmic Union, one of last year's finest surprises. The opening half hour, "Upon Which Areas May The Circles Be Drawn?" is the single most psychedelic experience you will encounter all year, combining early Pink Floyd (ca. Meddle) and The Bevis Frond's side-long extravaganzas like "The Shrine" with some spacey Hawkwind-on-Quaaludes electronic effects, a smidgeon of SubArachnoid Space and a whiff of The Church's jam sessions from a few years ago, Bastard Universe. The comically, yet functionally titled "Jam" (aren't they all?!) serves as a loose amalgamation of mood swings—what was often referred to back in the day during a Grateful Dead concert as the "space" segment. If you could imagine SubArachnoid's Mason Jones and Nick (Bevis Frond) Saloman jamming with Garcia, you'll have an idea of where this intergalactic segue is "head"ed. At other times throughout the show, lead guitarist Henrik Oja's apparent fascination with Robert Smith's crisp, wah-wahed high-pitched pluckings suggest he spent an awful lot of time absorbing The Cure's Disintegration album! I also suspect drummer David Johansson's snare has a couple of screws loose—it sounds like a couple of pebbles rattling around inside a tambourine, which is occasionally distracting to the point where I feared I had split my speakers from cranking up the volume too high. At about the nine minute mark, bassist Mårten Lundmark begins a nimble solo, and when Jens Unosson's sci-fi organ comes in and wraps its sinewy neck around Lundmark's thumping bassline, I had to check my watch for I thought I was back at Amsterdam's legendary Paradiso club in the midst of a Soft Machine gig. This perhaps is a signal to the other members to return to earth for a few minutes to play a few tracks off Organic Mind Solution, to wit: "The One That Really Won The War" and "Interplanetarian Lovemachine pt III." Lundmark's bass playing really takes off here, propelling the next half hour of the show into hyperdrive. Imagine Lemmy-era Hawkwind fueled by herbs instead of pharmaceuticals! As a matter of fact, I would rank this right up there alongside Space Ritual as one of the finest live recordings I've ever heard. Too bad the tape ran out during the finale, "Euphoria Euphoria," leaving only the attendees to relish the closing 15 minutes of this marvelous experience. And what of those lucky Leifs? Unfortunately, they make their presence known at the end of "...War" and the intro to "Euphoria...." Those familiar with Spacemen 3s Dream Weapon live recording will recall the annoying conversations in the background—the same distractions run through some of the quieter passages here, particularly during Oja's Roy Montgomery-esque delicate pindrop solo. But all is forgotten/forgiven once Unosson enters and begins his dueling keyboard solo, announcing the return of the rhythm section, at which point the whole piece sadly fades (down) into sweet oblivion. Perhaps if some audience members also had tapes rolling, a subsequent EP will emerge for all of us to appreciate the closing 15 minutes of, literally(!), "Euphoria Euphoria." But these are minor quibbles. I suggest you find yourself a good pair of headphones and a couple of comfy cushions, stake out a soft corner of the carpet, sit back, and float away on this magic carpet ride to the center of your mind. Last year, my fellow travelers on a popular discussion list selected a compilation of 35 year old recordings from an obscure Swedish band as the best release of 2001. This year, they'll only have to go back about 3 to find a couple of 2002s finest archival releases.
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