The Musiquarium #2 (part two)
Chris continues with one of the most interesting stories in music history, picking up where he left off yesterday.***
The first critical piece of this puzzle was the songs. There were a few songs that hadn't yet been in a finished state when S. F. Sorrow was recorded that were suitable. There were also a few songs that May and Waller had written but scrapped for the next Pretty Things album they wanted to record once they finished DeBarge's vanity project. Finally, they wrote a few songs specifically for DeBarge while setting up the studio.
The second, and perhaps just as critical piece was Monsieur
DeBarge himself. In St. Tropez, May had asked him “Ever sung in school before?”
“Non.”
“Maybe in church, like a choir?”
“Non.”
When DeBarge arrived in London for the recording session,
May was understandably nervous. What if their client couldn't carry a tune in a
bucket, realized it, and called everything off?
Whatever they were expecting of DeBarge, it's fair to say he
turned those preconceived notions upside down. He was absolutely dead serious
about this endeavor, and quickly set May and Waller at ease. Their millionaire
client could carry a tune fairly well. For DeBarge, his biggest frustration was
his thick, Gallic accent. He worked ceaselessly learning to sing and pronounce
the words phonetically (and those phonetics included May and Waller's own thick
London accents). While the band was laying down instrumental tracks in at Nova,
DeBarge would hole up at a nearby hotel room and work out the vocals a syllable
at a time.
May came up with a brilliant solution to the situation. He
recorded his own lead vocals for each song, sung quietly to a scratch track.
They'd play May's vocals through the headphones so only Philippe could hear,
and then he'd sing along to them on the recording proper. As a singer, DeBarge
eventually got proficient enough to be included in the recording of harmony
vocals with May, Waller, and Povey.
The Pretty Things and Philippe DeBarge finished their album
and created a few acetate masters, all of which were presented to their client.
The Pretties took the check they were cut for their services—and new-found
studio skills--to record the 1970 album Parachute, a pretty good record
that earned the distinction of being named Rolling Stone's #1 album of that
year (that ranking was a bit of a reach, but it is a fine album.)
For his part, Philippe DeBarge took the acetate masters back
to France to play for friends and family. Said friends and family were baffled
by the finished record and appalled by how much the heir had paid to have it
made. It was, he was told, a colossal waste of time. DeBarge tried to shop it
around to some French record labels, only to find them uninterested in
English-language rock and roll. Disappointed, he gave a few copies away to
sympathetic pals. Over time, the DeBarge fortunes turned. Money ran out. Family
members fell on hard times. Philippe himself died under mysterious circumstance
in the early 1990's. The album he'd recorded in 1969 was an unknown curiosity
piece.
Or was it?
In the 1970's, the Pretty Things were one of the first bands
signed to Led Zeppelin's Swan Song label. This caused their early career to be
reassessed, and people began to rediscover their 1960's output. By the late
1980's, S. F. Sorrow was earning recognition as a lost classic of the
psychedelic era. One thing that was interesting, though, if you looked at the
Pretty Things discography: you could trace a pretty straight line from 1967's Emotions
into 1968's S. F. Sorrow...but then Parachute in 1970 seemed to
be a bit of a departure. Was there something missing in-between? To put a finer
point on it, it's impossible to listen to Sorrow and not think “I wish
there was more of this.”
At some point in the 1980's, someone feeling exactly that
way stumbled onto a third- or fourth-hand, cheaply made recording of the
acetate master of the album Philippe DeBarge had recorded with the Pretty
Things. It was widely bootlegged, and the sound was utterly awful. There were
scratches and skips abounding on this bootleg, even problems with the pitch of
the recording shifting at times. It sounded terrible. By the mid-1990's, with
bands like Neutral Milk Hotel and The Olivia Tremor Control wearing their Pretty
Things influence proudly on their sleeves, enterprising and curious folks
associated with the Pretty Things set out in search for an original master of the acetate.
Eventually one was found in Finland, in a private collection. It was mostly
unmarked and fairly clean.
The underground fanzine/record label Ugly Things (name not
coincidental) undertook to have this master cleaned and dressed up. The DeBarge
estate gave their blessings. The Pretty Things—who'd reunited in the '90s (and
still perform today, even in their 70's) also signed off on the project. In
2008, the cumbersomely named The Pretty Things Philippe Debarge was
finally given proper release 39 years after being recorded.
So the obvious million-dollar question is—is it as horrible
as a vanity-project album contracted for a fee from an underground psychedelic
band for a millionaire playboy sounds like it should be? The answer, short and
long is no. Hell no. Astonishingly, the record is good. In fact, it's really,
really good.
The opening track is a number that sounds as if it was
lifted straight off the latest Tame Impala record, a looping
percussion/acoustic number that builds as it goes called “Hello How Do You Do”
that's likely to end up in an AT&T commercial before too long. Despite
having only one line, “Hello. How do you do?”, there's a goofy, winning
infectiousness to the track that sets the tone for what follows.
The next track, “You Might Even Say”,
happily wears the influence of Love's classic Forever Changes album on
its sleeve. Not only is there an almost flamenco guitar figure going on here,
but somehow DeBarge manages a finess on the vocals that sounds like a ringer
for Love's Arthur Lee himself. The following track, “Alexander” had been a
favorite at Pretty Things live gigs for a few years, and was nearly a lead-in
single for S. F. Sorrow, before someone suggested that a rock song about
Alexander The Great conquering Asia Minor might not rocket straight up the
charts. DeBarge had no such qualms and sings it enthusiastically, if a bit
stuck to one note.
From here though the record really hits stride. “Send You With Loving” is
a gleeful, swinging singalong that gives Philippe Debarge a chance to do a
pretty nice Donovan imitation. “You're Running You And Me”
is a fierce rocker that might be the Frenchman's best vocal on the whole
record—squint hard and it might be the Guess Who's Burton Cummings snarling
that chorus.
DeBarge had wanted to go artistic on his album, and the next
section of it does just that. “Peace”, “Eagle's Son”, “Graves Of Grey” and “New
Day” are thematically linked to one another (on some of the bootlegs these four
songs are presented as a single medley). “Eagle's Son” is a
stunning rocker, carried by Unitt's exceptionally heavy dual-tracked guitar
work and a masterful production job by May.
As good as “Eagle's Son” is, it doesn't prepare you for “New Day”. It's hard to
believe that May and Waller donated a song this good to this project, but there
it is. DeBarge sings it with a wide-eyed sincerity over gorgeous backing vocals
and a brilliant bit of playing and production. I sincerely believe that had
“New Day” been released back in the day, it would have ended up as a massive FM
radio staple.
The album closes out in fine fettle with the Floyd-ian
“It'll Never Be Me” and then the defiant “I'm Checking Out”, although
neither approaches the earlier heights of “New Day”, “Eagle's Son” or “You
Might Even Say”. (There's one final
song, “All Gone Now” that almost feels like an afterthought here.)
What's truly amazing to me is how well this record stands up
alongside two proper Pretty Things albums that sandwich it. It's almost like
discovering there's a lost Beatles album between The White Album and Abbey
Road. The songs, the playing, and production are all outstanding, and Pretty
Things Philippe DeBarge now is a worthy addition to anyone interested in
the best British psych-pop albums of the late 1960s. Even better bet—if modern critical darlings
like the aforementioned Tame Impala or White Fence or Ty Segall are your thing,
this will scratch that itch perfectly. It's a pity Philippe didn't live to see
this given the release (and critical raves) it deserved, but even so this is a
gem worth discovering.
(The Pretty Things Philippe DeBarge is available for
purchase through Amazon or CDBaby. S. F. Sorrow and Parachute,
the albums directly before and after it, are widely available for digital or CD
purchase,as well as streamed through services like Spotify.)
<< Home