Kevin Ayers
Joy of a Toy

In these bleak times, where grayness and adversity prevail, the search for compensation may spontaneously arise in the pursuit of what falls into the aesthetic category of beauty, in all its artistic forms. If it's a long-playing record (the now legendary 33-rpm vinyl), you can pore over your record collection and randomly pick, among many, precisely this LP titled "Joy of a Toy," recorded by Kevin Ayers in 1969. Just the other day, I happened to listen to it again after some time since the last time, to reminisce about my first fortuitous encounter with the aforementioned record and the initial impressions I had from my approach to the musician. Well, in my case, I was only 14 years old and was fortunately on a school trip (specifically the first one) to none other than London, a very popular tourist destination in that April 1973. During that week (that's how long it lasted) of the trip, after the usual visits to London's standout monuments, we dedicated an entire afternoon to the ritual of shopping. I went with some classmates to Carnaby Street, renowned worldwide for its high concentration of trendy shops and boutiques. We happened to walk into a record store (whose name I no longer remember) to check out the latest releases. One of my classmates, while I was about to buy Carole King's album "Music" (not as good as the previous "Tapestry," incidentally), walked out with a copy of "Joy of a Toy" by Kevin Ayers. Upon returning to Milan, intrigued, I had the good idea to ask him to borrow the record. It's worth noting that I had already been introduced to rock and its surroundings, having been groomed listening to Beatles, Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan, but I was not yet versed in all the nuances of the magmatic universe of rock. To put it simply, I was still unaware of the existence of the Canterbury scene, with all its associates like Soft Machine, and thus for me, Kevin Ayers was just an illustrious unknown (my youthful mistakes which I have fortunately been able to remedy). Listening to "Joy of a Toy" was so disorienting for me that it led me to purchase a copy of the album from my trusted supplier (specifically Buscemi in Milan). A love that was therefore born by chance many years ago and has never faded over time.

But what struck me then and still does about "Joy of a Toy"? Upon listening, one perceives a certain stylistic freshness and a certain relaxation typical of the character. Ayers had been one of the founders of the group Soft Machine, whom he left right after their debut album in 1968 when he realized, during a tour in the USA, that there was a risk of being swallowed by the stressful logics of the rock business. The good Kevin, an incurable bohemian dandy, preferred to take his time composing music, choosing the island of Ibiza as his retreat. And from the grooves of "Joy of a Toy" emanates this indolence not only personal to Kevin but also to many hippies of the time who, advocating an alternative life, sought to reconnect with nature following orientalist philosophies and indulging in free love (later brilliantly described by Nanni Moretti as "the practice of an expansive and sweaty sexuality"). In this mood, Ayers, assisted by former Soft Machine colleagues Robert Wyatt and Mike Ratledge, spreads out a wide range of sounds that form a cauldron of nuances steeped in psychedelia, prog rock, acid folk, and glam. By doing so, Kevin Ayers remains stylistically aligned with contemporary English authors like Syd Barrett and Donovan Leitch (just listen to "All This Crazy Gift of Time" to realize it), without branching into the more pronounced jazz dimensions that Soft Machine had embraced. The tracks present in "Joy of a Toy" do not deviate from the song form but produce surprising results like "Stop This Train (Again Doing It)," which has a rhythm so contagious that it captures the attention of even a distracted listener.

Another strength of the entire LP is constituted by the lyrics which denote Ayers' wit. Meanwhile, certain Lewis Carroll-like atmospheres present in tunes like "Girl on a Swing" and "Lady Rachel" (dedicated to his daughter) fade into melancholy tones (the awareness of the Heraclitean "panta rei" is felt) and sinister ones (Rachel's dreamlike dimension is perceived as the last bulwark opposed to the fears of the unknown and the unconscious). There's also, to create a more relaxed atmosphere, a marked panicky love for nature as emerges in the song "The Clarietta Rag" where, to a brisk pace supported by trombones and mellotron, this Clarietta is celebrated with

"Have you seen Miss Clarietta riding round on her Lambretta on the mountainside. She’s the Queen of mountain magic, everybody knows".

Obviously, that reference to a ride on a Lambretta makes this Clarietta, a pagan goddess of nature, original and charming.

But Kevin Ayers is also an astute observer of the emptiness of the times (decidedly counter-trend compared to many of his contemporaries) as can be inferred in this passage in "Song for Insane Times" (a tune with jazzy sounds):

"People say they want to be free, they look at me but it’s only themselves they’re wanting to see and everybody knows about it

And you and I we sit and hum, we know something‘s got to come and get us off our endless bum, there’s probably one in the bathroom or even in the hall I don