Python Lee Jackson
In a Broken Dream

Python Lee Jackson is not a soloist, but rather an early Australian rock blues band with a unique history.

They got together around the mid-sixties, then by the end of the decade took the big leap by moving to London—that is, the Center of the World, the Mecca, the Promised Land for all bands of that time. They landed a contract to release a record but, quite remarkably, their singer-songwriter and organist refused to perform a blues ballad they placed high hopes on, entitled “In a Broken Dream”, feeling he wasn’t up to the task.

To solve the problem, they contacted a still little-known Scottish singer, a certain Rod Stewart, who at that time had already made a name for himself with Brian Auger’s Steampacket first and the Jeff Beck Group after, but hadn’t yet had the fateful encounter with the Faces. He accepted the offer, apparently in exchange for a... brand-new set of seat covers for his battered car, and thus laid down the vocals for “In a Broken Dream”. While at it, they had him sing two other tracks from their repertoire, titled “Doin’ Fine” and “The Blues”.

The record came out at the start of 1970 and went completely unnoticed: the band drifted apart, disappointed. Stewart instead began releasing records under his own name and, above all, joined the Faces, the most plausible and convincing stand-ins for the Rolling Stones. The following year marked his huge personal success with his third solo album, “Every Picture Tells a Story”, and so, in 1972, the Python Lee Jackson album was shrewdly reissued. Mind you, with the band’s name printed in tiny letters and “featuring ROD STEWART” in big, bold font, next to an onstage photo of the new rockstar.

The single then entered the charts—two years late—as did the LP (in Australia, where the band had since returned), and that was it for them; they never produced anything else of real substance.

“In a Broken Dream” is a terrific song, featuring Rod Stewart at his very best. He sings it with his heart on his sleeve, that powerful and intentionally hoarse tone that only he can deliver. There’s the very late-sixties organ, the psych guitar with exaggerated distortion, the blues atmosphere warped into a convincing and memorable melody.

The rest of the album doesn’t have much to say, including Stewart’s other two vocal contributions, which go in one ear and out the other, just as happens with all the other tracks sung by the band’s original frontman, a certain Dave Bentley (later a successful journalist back in Australia). It’s the classic kind of record you keep in your collection for just one song—the supreme one, excellently performed, evocative of that crucial period bridging the sixties and seventies.