Sam Gopal
Escalator

What a beautiful summer! The sun, the beach, the crystal-clear sea. And then the night with its bonfires, barbecues, bottles of wine, and joints aplenty. It often happens, however, that such an idyllic moment is ruined by the usual four hippies and their congas, preferably in loop on a single rhythm all night long. Even if resigned to the idea that the evening is now lost, a savior may still appear. A kind soul who can lull you with his music under the starry night, without giving you a lecture on India or speaking about Sai Baba's powers. I'm talking about Ian Willis, former roadie of Jimi Hendrix, but known to most as “Lemmy.”
Yes, exactly him. The man who drinks whisky as if it were a Cedrata Tassoni, whose withered voice is a testament to prolonged abuse of various substances, and, due to his boils, undoubtedly one of the ugliest human beings in the northern hemisphere. You wouldn't believe it, but before his career with Motorhead, dear Lemmy was a true freak. Consider his time with Hawkwind, and before that, with these Sam Gopal.

Nominally the project of the Indian percussionist of the same name (already active in London in the mid-’60s), the band essentially focused its expressive strength on Lemmy's deep voice and fuzzed guitar. The album, characterized by an ultra-raw production even by the standards of the time (1968), navigates territories as freak as they are rock, with a decidedly fascinating undulating flow. It's interesting to note how the rhythm section lacks a drum set, replaced by Gopal's percussion, and essentially relies on a bass that is varied and at the same time powerful. Each track thus presents a vague acid and orientalist flavor, both in the more rock-like episodes (the initial Cold Embrace, Dark Lord, or the garage gem Escalator), and in the softer and dreamy moments like in the explicit Grass, or in the “beach slow” It’s Only Love. In this song, the freak soul of a Lemmy light years away from the paradigmatic image of a follower of the sex, drugs & r’n’r motto (in his case, better defined as chicks, whiskey & turntables); a soul to which he responded by singing to his beloved: “I’ll take you walking on the sand to watch the sleeping sea.”
What can I say, an absolutely summery album, with perhaps a few sappy tracks, but overall very intriguing, especially for the way it manages to blend the freak spirit of the period with predominantly rock compositions. And, moreover, the ideal soundtrack for a sunrise on the beach, hippies permitting.