Fifty Foot Hose
Cauldron

THE REVIEW

One of the many myths that surround the '60s, musically speaking, is that of a decade that gave rise to all subsequent music, whose fallout is still alive in our present musical scene. This assumption often implies the qualitative and quantitative superiority of the formidable decade compared to those that followed. Personally, I quite agree with the first point, but honestly not much with the second, because, fortunately, it makes no sense to compare music from different times while searching for a qualitative link.

As far as being a trailblazer for the musical decades to come, there is little to argue. Although blues, jazz, and musique concrète had already appeared on the scene, the '60s had the merit of capturing the musical past, reshuffling it, chewing it, and representing it in a new and changing way, originating among the most diverse of music.

It happens then that, rummaging through the closet of the '60s, one might stumble upon little-known bands like the Californian Fifty Foot Hose, whose only album, “Cauldron”, well represents the above description. A cauldron where bassist Louis Marcheschi, the Blossom spouses (she on vocals, he on guitar) had fun mixing the most disparate ingredients, among which there were garage approach, lots of primitive electronics, folk atmospheres, distorted psychedelia, and sprinklings of musique concrète. Result? A potion with innate regenerative and boosting qualities, worthy of the best Panoramix.

Basically, it is a record detached from its time, as much as the tracks seem to come from other historical periods. Starting from the short electronic interludes that alternate with real tracks, between proto ambient and noise, almost like a year zero for future electronic experiments. The tracks are all worthy of mention, from the ascending melody of “If Not This Time”, through the stellar electro-blues of “The Thing That Concern You”, the proto Sabbathian sound of “Red The Sign Post”, the slow-release LSD synthetic ballad of “Rose”, a cosmic folk cover of Billie Holiday (“God Bless The Child”) up to a title track for processed voices, moans from Vincent Price's films, a sinister soundtrack for a personal massacre in Bel Air. Finally, there are the 10 minutes of “Fantasy”, where it starts electronic, continues on psych rock tracks, becomes unsettling with hints of sick proto synths, and ends up exhausted on frenetic rhythms.

“Cauldron” is one of the best musical trips you can encounter, and not only regarding the musical landscape of the '60s, as within it you can glimpse, like in an imaginative collage made with a primitive time machine, blinding flashes of music from the decades to come.