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Rating: The long wave that started with "Revolver" had caused unimaginable turmoil from various perspectives, and further west, there was a group of crazy people using an electrified amphora and fluttering around aboard unthinkable elevators. They were searching for a name to define their music, and that adjective, "psychedelic," emerged, which would change many things in the future.
Immediately, too, to be honest: a myriad of familiar sonic associations started to flourish on both sides of the ocean. Without delving into the well-known story of the summer of '67 (extremely important as well) and everything else, it's worth remembering that the English "fashion" of those years undoubtedly led many bands to experiment with psychedelia. Bands that started as jazz, or perhaps poorly defined (Soft Machine, Pink Floyd), blues bands (Pretty Things, Fleetwood Mac), predominantly beat groups (Who). And I'm surely forgetting many others. Anyway, in this latter category, one can place the Shondells, led by Tommy James. They started as emulators of the Beatles and Kinks, or—to stay on more accessible shores—as friendly peers of the Monkees, treading the then-almost-untouched path of pop/beat hit-making. They published no less than three albums in 1967, "I Think We're Alone Now," "Gettin' Together," and "Something Special," firmly anchored in the charts. Then in 1968, "Mony Mony" slightly shakes the group, leading up to "Crimson and Clover."
Whether it was due to actual artistic growth or taking advantage of the moment is unknown. The fact is that in the year "S.F. Sorrow" by Pretty Things was quickly proclaimed album of the year, "Crimson and Clover" also timidly made its way. Easily driven by the instantly catchy single that gives the album its title, the journey unfolds through a series of relaxingly toned ballads, with hints of blues influences diluted in a festive pop-psychedelic bath. The rare appearances of acid guitars evoke the Grateful Dead and Quicksilver Messenger Service, although (of course) they don't reach those territories or levels. The pastoral delicacy of "Kathleen Mc Arthur", the timid aggressiveness of "I am a Tangerine" and "I'm Alive", and the easily singable "Do Something to Me" emerge. Undoubtedly, the gem of the album—and perhaps one of the most beautiful of the entire English movement—remains "Crimson and Clover". It starts as a ballad, gently accompanied by Mick Vale's bass and James' dreamlike singing, transitioning to instrumental parts that are at times aggressive, at times soft, at times faster, dissolving into gentle percussion and continuing to tease the listener. The ending is spine-chilling, with the «crimson and clover, over and over» repeated ad libitum, with the filtered chorus becoming faster and more uncertain.
Naïve psychedelic experiments? Certainly, although at some moments in the album the five showed talent. Undoubtedly, the sound today is inevitably dated, except for some exceptions, but it thoroughly testifies to a period—the second half of the '60s in England—of utmost importance for music history. A reflection that still resonates today.
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