In 1970, The Beatles split. Not because Yoko had been lying in a bed in Abbey Road studios, mad as a box of frogs. And it wasn't to do with Phil Spector doing a production job on "Let it Be" (9/10) that McCartney would consider to be Spector's greatest crime (although, I'm not as sure that adding strings to "The Long and Winding Road" is in the same ballpark as murder, sexual molestation and psychological torture.) The real reason for The Beatles split was because in 1970 they had so many brilliant songs that it would have been showing off to stay together and release them on one (probably triple) album. THAT would have made The Beatles bigger than Jesus (don't burn my blog!), unless Jesus had been resurrected AND released a triple album of similar material. Something not easily done in first century Galilee.
The material I refer to is scattered across the huge output of Beatles solo albums in 1970-1 and their final release as a band, "Let it Be". The solo LPs securing positions on my top ten lists are 1970's "McCartney" (8/10) and George's triple album "All Things Must Pass" (8/10) and 1971's "Imagine" (8/10) and Paul and Linda's "Ram" (8/10). Lennon's 1970 solo effort "Plastic Ono Band" doesn't quite make the list, but is a great album. And Ringo's 1970 "Sentimental Journey" isn't in my collection, because, well, it's Ringo. Solo. Bless him. I suspect he'd be allowed one song on the 1970-1 Beatles triple album that never was.
So, that's a combined score of 41 across '70-71 for The Beatles. Untouchable. But who are the others heralding the new decade with copious amounts of nice noises pressed onto vinyl?
The Doors score a perfect 20 by maturing into a more bluesy style, keeping willies in trousers on stage and growing a beard and getting fat in Jim Morrison's case. "Morrison Hotel" (10/10) and "LA Woman" (10/10) frustratingly show them at their absolute best, sadly just before Jim quit the band, moved to Paris and died in the bath.
Jethro Tull's "Benefit" (10/10) and "Aqualung" (9/10) continued to prove that one of the best additions to the standard guitar-bass-drum-keyboards foundation for rock bands was a flute. (We are a year or two away from Roxy Music making the case for a sax.) Standing on one leg, wearing tights and a codpiece whilst playing the flute might not have stood the test of time as well as the actual sound, but such is the joy off listening on vinyl over watching on You Tube.
After years of trying different styles, laughing with gnomes and floating in a tin can, David Bowie's creative peak began in 70-71, even though he was a year away from a commercial breakthrough. He grew his hair long, donned a dress and draped himself over a chaise longue for the cover of "The Man Who Sold the World" (9/10). Because (or maybe despite the fact that) the content was not quite as camp or feminine as the sleeve suggested - the riff on 'Width of a Circle' rivals Led Zep's more overt masculinity - his record company couldn't see those conservative Americans wanting to buy a rock album with a transvestite on the cover and so changed it on the US version for a 3rd rate cartoon of a man in a cowboy hat with a rifle wrapped in a blanket under his arm, standing outside what is probably a mental asylum. That's what America got for its inability to cope with a bloke in a frock. A year later, Bowie unveiled a work of genius that few people appreciated straight away. "Hunky Dory" (10/10). Way beyond my powers of description, so I'll move on...
Led Zeppelin continued to name their albums after themselves, much like heavyweight fighter George Foreman, whose five sons are all called George. "Led Zeppelin III" (9/10) surprised the critics with the emphasis shifting from rock towards folk; but in '71 the balance between the two was perfected on "Led Zeppelin IV" (10/10). Or whatever you want to call it, because by that time, Zeppelin were so huge, that they confidently released an album with no title and no writing on the front, back or spine to indicate that it was their album. Not something Showaddywaddy could get away with it.
On "Hunky Dory's" 'Song for Bob Dylan, Bowie sings that "we lost your train of thought", referring to what many at the time saw as Dylan's demise. At this time, people may have believed that Bob had lost HIS train of thought, or perhaps his mind. One particular 'Rolling Stone' music critic would have agreed, having famously headed his review of 1970's "Self Portrait" with the words "What is this shit?". It doesn't nudge into my 1970 top ten, but it's far from shit. The follow-up shut a few people up, though. "New Morning" (8/10) was Bob's most varied album ever in terms of style, even embracing jazz-styled scat singing from a female backing vocalist. 'Rolling Stone' did not respond with "What is this scat?". They missed an opportunity there.
Nearly all jazz makes me want to pour petrol into my ears and set fire to my head. Especially scat. And improvisational jazz. All that smug nodding along to a careering rhythm that sounds like a never-ending trickle of piss into a toilet. However, used sparingly, like garlic (which I also hate in larger quantities), jazz can enhance music in another primary genre, and Nick Drake's 1970 sophomore folk album "Bryter Layter" (9/10) is the jazziest thing in my collection.
If jazz is garlic to me, then Prog Rock is pepper. I can take more of it, if the whole dish is a good one, but pile too much on and I want to spit it out. Tull were dabbling with prog and did so more after 1971, but early Genesis were steeped in this genre. Prog rock is always very clever, but very clever stuff can be either dull or down right irritating. 1971's "Nursery Cryme" (8/10) makes the peppery prog palatable by presenting it in a context of Victorian gothic folk supernaturalism, dark mystery, wit and even a sprinkling of music hall. But more importantly, the songs are enjoyable and not annoying as most prog rock tends to be when it conforms to type and disappears up its own arsehole.
A final few mentions. 1970 saw Simon and Garfunkel bow out on a high point, with their unsurpassable "Bridge over Troubled Water" (10/10) and Neil Young cemented his place as a writer of classic songs on "After the Goldrush" (9/10). 1971 heralded Pink Floyd's transformation from psychedelia into something altogether more recognisably Floyd-ish with "Meddle" (9/10), while The Rolling Stones released "Sticky Fingers" (10/10) with another iconic Andy Warhol penis-obsessed album cover.
Thus ends the golden 3 year period, 1969-71, in which I've rated 13 albums with perfect scores of 10/10. The rest of the 70s produces only 12 albums of that same quality and there are diminishing returns thereafter. It's not the case that I've donned rose-tinted glasses to view this era with, nor have I worn brown-tinted ones for the rest of the time; it's purely because between 1969 and 1971, the world was blessed with the creative fruits of The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie, Neil Young, The Doors, Simon and Garfunkel, The Rolling Stones, Nick Drake and Jethro Tull.... ALL AT THE SAME TIME!! Talk about buses!
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