Stackridge

Friendliness (1972)

Although The Man in the Bowler Hat is without question the most fully realized and lavishly produced (by George Martin) Stackridge album, most fans of the band would probably gravitate toward Friendliness as their favourite. Here can be found every quality that endeared the West Country five-piece to a loyal — but never quite large enough — following. There's Beatlesque melody, gently surreal humor, and considerable instrumental dexterity that ranged freely between the worlds of pop, folk, jazz, classical, and prog rock. The rollicking instrumental "Lummy Days" is a perfect scene-setter, with Mike Evans' violin and Mutter Slater's flute lyrical one moment and bucolic the next as the melody sweeps between hoedown, bolero, and Vaughn Williams — all in less than four minutes. Next comes the weightless beauty of the title track, with James Warren's choirboy vocals multi-tracked to bewitching effect. That's followed, even more improbably, by the '30s-style foppery of "Anyone for Tennis," and not long after by the Eastern-tinged "Syracuse the Elephant," at over eight minutes long and with Mellotron aplenty, clear evidence that Stackridge could have staked their share of the prog market if they could have kept a straight face long enough. But they couldn't, and to prove it, the next track is a piece of cod-reggae about a cow, called "Amazingly Agnes." In truth this and the heads-down, no-nonsense boogie "Keep on Clucking" (a whimsical diatribe against battery farming) always did sound like grudging concessions to commercialism, and decades later they still do. But the album finishes in triumph with the haunting "Teatime," arguably one of the most convincing fusions of folk, jazz, and classical music in the entire prog rock canon, with none of the ego-fuelled blowing that so discredited the genre. [The CD reissue contains three extra tracks, including the instrumental stage favorite "Purple Spaceships Over Yatton."]

Extravaganza (1974)

After the lavishly produced The Man in the Bowler Hat, it seemed that Stackridge might have blown their best chance of a commercial breakthrough. Just to make sure they did so good and proper, however, they promptly embarked upon the first of a series of bitter internal disputes that meant any fans turning up to a gig did so wondering who'd be playing and who'd be sat at home nursing a grudge. Whichever way you look at it, though, Extravaganza was a pretty odd follow-up, and one that must have left their new label — Elton John's Rocket Records — seething with frustration. By now it must have been clear that expecting Stackridge to focus their energies on a single musical direction was an exercise in futility, and in any case totally contrary to the spirit of the band. But with Andy Davis now calling most of the shots, he and new members Rod Bowkett, Paul Karas, and Keith Gemmell (who replaced Mutter Slater, James Warren, and Mike Evans) set about cultivating a Zappa-ish tendency that, though it had been there from the very beginning, had never before dominated proceedings as it did here. Extravaganza contained no fewer than three (admittedly delightful) intricate jazz-rock instrumentals that recalled the heyday of Hot Rats. Hardly the thing to woo customers attracted by the more pop-friendly Bowler Hat. But of greater concern was the shortage of strong original songs. "The Volunteer" and "Happy in the Lord" (both sung by an uncredited Slater) are classic Stackridge — warmly melodic and wryly humorous. But "No One's More Important Than the Earthworm" (written by ex-King Crimson member Gordon Haskell during a lightning-fast passage through the band's ranks), "Benjamin's Giant Onion," "Highbury Incident," and "Greasepaint Smiles" are pretty pedestrian fare. Small wonder, then, that for all its good points Extravaganza enjoys a reputation as Stackridge's most unloved — and least frequently reissued — album

Mr Mick (1976)

Still riven by internal disputes that would even scupper the band's second coming 20 years later, Stackridge were at least boosted in 1976 by the return to the ranks of flautist and vocalist Mutter Slater and bassist Crun Walter — though the talents of James Warren were still sorely missed. In fact it was Slater who dominated Mr. Mick, which took Stackridge away from the Zappa-ish tendencies of Extravaganza and back toward their Beatlesque roots. Unfortunately, 1976 was no time to be releasing a concept album, even one that had been chopped up and rendered meaningless by the record company, and Mr. Mick represented the point at which Stackridge finally succumbed to the allied forces of public indifference and punk. It's far from being their best album, but Mr. Mick still has considerable charm, once you get past the somewhat pointless cod-reggae version of the Beatles' "Hold Me Tight." This was ditched, however, when the band issued a revised edition of the album in 2000, complete with all the tracks that were excised first time around at the expense of Slater's story. Since several of these include long stretches of narration that quickly pall on repeated listening, this is one of those rare occasions when you feel a degree of sympathy for the record company. As for the story itself — a "modern fairytale" about an old codger who visits a magic rubbish dump where all the discarded articles have a tale to tell — as career advancement went, it was up there with Brian Wilson's Mount Vernon and Fairway. Nevertheless, "Fish in a Glass," "Steam Radio Song," and "The Slater's Waltz" all boast the kind of sumptuous pop melodies that first convinced George Martin to helm The Man in the Bowler Hat.

Something For The Weekend (1997)

When a long-defunct band you loved in your youth opts to give fame and fortune one last shot 20 years later, though your heart leaps at the prospect, your brain urges caution. Most listeners have sat through middle-aged reunion albums with their spirits steadily sinking, as turgid laments for the environment give way to bitter attacks on faithless ex-wives and ex-band members, and current band members relentlessly demonstrate their familiarity with the very latest synthesizers. But 21 years after what everyone assumed to be their final release, Mr. Mick, Stackridge reconvened — several key members light, as usual — and delivered one of their finest albums. This time the band was under the direction of James Warren, who left in 1973 after The Man in the Bowler Hat to subsequently enjoy considerably greater commercial success as a member of the Korgis (briefly alongside his old Stackridge oppo Andy Davis). And certainly there's a degree of Korgis-style polish about many of the songs included here, while another key influence is openly acknowledged in the anthemic "Something About the Beatles." Warren was always the band's premier melodist, however, and though Something for the Weekend would have certainly benefited from the presence of key members Davis and Mutter Slater, it boasts a consistency that was all too lacking in the band's last two (Warren-free) albums. Any fears that a commitment to polished soft rock might dilute the band's more endearingly eccentric tendencies, though, are dispelled by the splendidly surreal "Wildebeeste" and the irresistible '30s-style "Sliding Down the Razorblade of Love," not to mention the equally delightful "Grooving Along on the Highway on a Monday Morning Once" — the kind of instantly memorable melody that Paul McCartney would have killed for in 1997. A further plus point comes in the return of Mike Evans, whose superb fiddling and occasional deadpan vocals were always a key ingredient of the classic 1970-1973 lineup. Newcomer John Miller also proved a valuable addition, both as a multi-instrumentalist and co-composer. All told, you're left feeling that this is the album with which Stackridge should have capitalized on the momentum generated by George Martin's lavish production of The Man in the Bowler Hat. Instead, this most affably English of groups embarked on two decades of squabbling and hoping the fans liked their new direction. And guess what? Just a few years after this album was released, they fell out all over again. In the immortal words of Ian Dury, what a waste.