Groundhogs
Split

Groundhogs is one of those names that come in handy when you feel like listening to some pure and hard British (rock) blues, without any pop or other genre contaminations, played as a guitar/bass/drums trio by people accustomed to hitting the stage with the same jeans and T-shirt they put on in the morning right after getting out of bed and the bathroom; the honesty and innocence with which such formations approach music make listening to their works special and invigorating.

The strong presence in this trio is the London guitarist, singer, and songwriter Tony McPhee, a musician who took his vows back in 1962, cutting his teeth by accompanying American bluesmen of the time when they toured in the United Kingdom. He currently has some trouble continuing his career, as in 2009, a stroke somewhat compromised his vocal and manual abilities.

Here on "Split," however, we are still in 1971, with Tony being a 27-year-old in great shape, with only a slight problem of... balding. The album is the fourth from the group and one of the best; the leader does his utmost to extract as many sounds, tones, and playing techniques as possible from his white Stratocaster, thus diversifying the basic blues and expanding it into psychedelic, effect-laden, noisy territories, using the tremolo lever and the wah-wah pedal intensively. There are good ideas for the riffs, and the rhythm section formed by the two Eastern immigrants, Peter Cruikshank on bass and Ken Pustelnik on drums, is busy and solid, especially with the drummer playing in a very Jimi Hendrix Experience style, inspired by Mitch Mitchell. Tony's voice is, finally, raw but genuine and communicative, somewhat reminiscent of Ian Anderson, the leader of Jethro Tull.

The first four tracks (i.e., the first side of the original LP) consist of the title track, divided into four parts. The link between them is only at the lyrics level (Tony recounts one of his bad dissociative experiences, a real nightmare he personally lived in a dream), actually being four rock blues songs quite different from each other. I'm particularly intrigued by "Part II," very dynamic with the mellifluous arpeggio seasoned with wah-wah and the subsequent distorted explosion to launch the verses, as well as "Part III," characterized by a lush vocal melody over a descending arpeggio, alternating with a hard and primordial blues riff.

The second part of the work opens with the single "Cherry Red," not devoid of a healthy melodic opening and from that moment on an indispensable number at their concerts, then proceeding with the almost lugubrious "A Year In The Life," which alternates slow moments with gloomy instrumental accelerations.

Even more dynamic, indeed decidedly of the progressive school is the following "Junkman," which stretches into a final noise-school guitar solo, with McPhee busy depressing the guitar strings to the impossible using the tremolo lever, then alienating the sound further with the wah-wah pedal. Very psychedelic!

The album closes magnificently with an ancestral blues number titled after the group's name (Groundhog for the record means marmot): four wonderful minutes dedicated to John Lee Hooker and shaped in the image and likeness of Mississippi blues, the one invented by this gentleman and the other great pioneer Robert Johnston. Here Tony is almost solo, rhythmically supported by Pustelnik's simple "four-on-the-floor" kick drum, singing half-spoken and handling the Strato with infinite warmth and respect, set with "open" tuning and enriched by slide interventions. What a great man McPhee is! Long life to him and eternal glory to this kind of music so true, so honest, so noble.