Donovan - late sixties

Do talk back

Which is your personal Donovan?

Sunshine Superman
9
18%
Mellow Yellow
10
20%
A Gift From a Flower to a Garden
11
22%
Hurdy Gurdy Man
12
24%
Barabajagal
7
14%
 
Total votes: 49

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DRUGS SNAKE
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby DRUGS SNAKE » 30 Apr 2017, 18:38

No, not really. I just found that particular album pretty dull - one of those things you almost forget you're listening to. The title track is dreadful, pointless whimsy, and the rest unmemorable.

Sunshine Superman is OK but I'd hardly call it a classic. 'The Trip', 'Celeste' and 'Superlungs' - as well as the title track - are very good.
Ghost of Harry Smith wrote:I have no idea what this thread is trying to achieve.

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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 11 May 2017, 08:13

Quaco wrote:I was hoping for more commentary from you, specifically on Sunshine Superman. Just listening to it yesterday, hence the thread, and thinking about you, and 'why does Charlie like this one so much?'

Since Brother Quaco asked for it... blame him!



Image
Recorded December 1965 – May 1966 in London and Los Angeles
Released 26 August 1966 (just about everywhere but the UK)


The usual clarification/disclaimer: this is about the album released as per above, and not about the bizarrely sequenced hodgepodge issued ten months later in Britain, which dropped a few songs and incorporated others from the US Mellow Yellow LP.
Also, I am not taking into consideration the generally-less-than-impressive “bonus tracks” appended to some CD reissues.




A while back on these boards, I referred to this album as a "song cycle". It's not a term I throw around much, and to tell the truth I don't know if my use of it in that instance was strictly accurate.

Nonetheless, more than any other Donovan album this one feels whole to me, feels of a piece. And I say that knowing that it was recorded piecemeal over a six month span in two different studios on two different continents with many different combinations of different friends and session cats; acknowledging, too, that the songs zigzag all over the place in style and subject matter. With skill, flair, and the most deceptive simplicity, Donovan pulls it all together - King Arthur's Camelot and a hip Sunset Strip nightspot are but adjacent rooms in the grand mansion of his (and our) imagination. There is a rightness, an inevitability in the way these ten songs go together, that I’d like to believe is down to something more than just serendipity and savvy sequencing (although it might not be).

(After writing that paragraph, I had an impulse to look up Paul Williams' review of the album from the November '66 issue of Crawdaddy! - a review I don't think I'd read in more than thirty years - and within a few paragraphs found a strikingly similar observation: "It is good that these songs work into each other so well... it would be cruel if the cord that is formed were ripped out after each tune. But no, it is all one cord, and even after listening to the album you are tied. It stays with you - once invited in to view the palace you are never thrown out the back door. You live within it, and in the world too. In this way, the album is more real than Revolver, [which is] a more frankly experimental LP, a hat shop, try this on for size, and this, and when you've tried on all the hats you leave. [...] Really, the whole [Donovan] lp is one song.")

One trick that helps to foster this impression is the way some songs ("Legend Of A Girl Child Linda", "Bert's Blues", "The Trip") end on an unresolved harmonic progression, melodic line and/or lyric, which functions as a kind of musical semi-colon or ellipsis, setting up the next song/scene. The title track (in its originally-released shortened form) does something similar, its rather abrupt fade-out beginning on the V chord (When you've made your mind up...) and concluding almost before we get back to the I chord; more than most song fades, it feels like a dissolve in a movie.

That the album's first stanza begins with Sunshine came softly through my window today and its last with Dawn crept in unseen to find me still awake is a nice touch, too.

But far more than such (possibly unintended) cleverness - more, even, than the invaluable contributions of Mickie Most, John Cameron, Shawn Phillips and the other musicians (and engineers) - it's the clarity and force of Mr. Leitch's vision and the dazzling confidence of his performances (vocal and instrumental) that push this album into a rarefied realm.

There is little in his 1965 catalog, with the obvious exception of "Sunny Goodge Street", that more than vaguely hints at the easy, cool mastery on display here. Not only is he writing some stunningly original and poetic songs... not only is he genuinely ahead of the curve with the Pop-Folk-Jazz-World fusion thing... but he is, at this juncture, simply one of the most natural and charismatic Rock singers on the scene. And by that I mean to say he’s firmly in the Lennon/McCartney/Dylan genius bracket. Yeah, I said it, and if that strikes you as hyperbolic – man, just listen!

He’s not imitating Dylan or even Ramblin’ Jack Elliott anymore (assuming he ever truly was) – nor has his singing yet taken on the self-conscious, precious, quasi-messianic traits that would begin to creep in within a couple of years. Here, he’s more like a beatnik Dion DiMucci – more Brit than Bronx, but with all of the effortless command, all of the heart and smarts and swagger (where appropriate), and with something else all his own, too. Believe it: in 1966, Mick Jagger or Eric Burdon would have killed to be able to project such casual authority for a full LP.

Sunshine Superman is the sound of a wide open young man¹ who has found himself in the calm eye of a hurricane of perpetual novelty (in the positive sense of that word) and instant satori, and who not only has the nous to make the most of the moment, but has seemingly just figured out that there is something of real value that is his alone to contribute to it. Magical though much of his '67-'73 work would be, he would only sporadically approach such a state of grace again.




The album: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8cFEgE6ec8&list=PL6E5855CD8F79038A




”Sunshine Superman” – Two basses (upright and a staccato electric) in one of the coolest two-bar openings ever. Past that, it’s Donovan’s gutteral acoustic rhythm guitar (very subtly doubled by Jimmy Page on electric – in the mono mix, it sounds like one guitar, just as the two basses sound like one bass) that drives the track.

Some may disagree – suit yourself – but I maintain that this is an instance where the Short Version (used on the original 45 and LP) works better than the Long Version with the repeated verse, longer guitar solo, and later fade-out (first issued on Donovan’s Greatest Hits). It just isn’t the sort of song that really gains anything by stretching it out. It’s a hit! - so hit it and quit it, I say.

“Minuscule moments in music that move me”: Donovan hitting his second syllable about a quarter-tone sharp - Sun-shiiiiiiiine – it’s no mistake, he knows what he’s doing. Those other queer, cool blue notes: I’ll tell you right nowwwww... I’ll pick up your haannd... John Cameron’s syncopated harpsichord stabs during the break, like a ping-pong ball ricocheting between drums, rhythm guitars, and lead guitar. Then in the middle of the next verse, that exuberant yelp of yep! followed by Uh-y
ə-yə-you can just sit there... And, as Paul Williams noted, that moment when the Overdubbed Harmony Donovan starts to sing forever to be mine instead of you’re going to be mine so it comes out sounding like foregoing to be mine is one of those charmed gaffes that somehow only makes a record stronger.

Williams again: “... if you’ve ever known springtime you can’t fail to understand.”


”Legend Of A Girl Child Linda” - I said earlier that I have to be in the mood for this one, but that isn't it, exactly. It's more that I either have to make a conscious choice to give in to it, or just try to not pay attention to it at all. (Either approach works; anything in between doesn’t, really.) The thing is just SO long and slow and (for what appears to be a children's story) impossible to follow narrative-wise that it can trigger a resistance on my part that the rest of these cuts just don't.

But... when I do make that conscious choice... and I do, more often than not... most if not all of those perceived weaknesses become secret strengths.

Before I attempt to defend that strange assertion, let me take a moment to praise John Cameron’s arrangement. I don’t think Donovan could have hoped to pull this one off on his own; as he wrote it, it is eighteen stanzas, all of them musically identical, with no bridge or chorus sections. It would be a truly tedious listen without Cameron’s rich, kaleidoscopic orchestration (and well-placed instrumental breaks). Considering he didn’t get a credit on the LP, I hope Mickie Most at least paid him double-scale for it.

This is a meditation; Donovan’s gorgeously recorded Gibson J45, picked with such deliberate precision, and the uncommonly intimate burr of his voice, center one much as a mantra might. The song’s length and slow pace would render even a traditional story arc difficult to pay close attention to, so it’s just as well that this fable – something about “one hundred small children” embarked upon a magical yet ambiguous quest (a hundred of them! Where are the parents?) – doesn’t really have one. Ultimately, this is more about using the vocabulary and imagery of fable and fantasy and dreams – and melody – to bypass the analytical mind, relax the body, and gently stir the oily puddle of your primal emotions and memories to see what colourful patterns might surface. (Donovan has said that the song came to him in a dream. It feels like one.) When the storyteller, for the first time since the first line, snaps back into the first person for the final stanza, it is unexpected, and unexpectedly moving.

While it may seem bold or even foolish to have placed this ponderous, impenetrable "legend" second on the LP, directly following the Pop Hit, I think it was a crucial decision - and on reflection I withdraw my earlier suggestion that the album might have been better without it. I don’t know what I was thinking, really. I mean, it still would have been a great album, maybe a more accessible one... but I think it would have been a subtly less immersive one. In a strange way, this song may even be the secret key to the whole thing.

(An aside: the Kaleidoscope [UK] song "The Sky Children" - the eight-minute closer to their 1967 debut Tangerine Dream - is unmistakably inspired/influenced by "Girl Child Linda". The fable therein doesn't really make any more sense than Donovan's, but it's a lovely song all the same. And towards the end of it there is a reference to two kingfishers...)


”Twelve Kingfishers”² – (When I first bought this album, aged 12 I think, it was ”ELECTRONICALLY RE-CHANNELED FOR STEREO”. It wasn’t the worst fake stereo I ever heard; the sound was just thin and diffuse enough that it was easy for me to imagine that at least some of the songs had been recorded outdoors. To this day, I still kind of think of this song and some of the others in that light. I don’t necessarily literally imagine Don and cohorts out in a field somewhere as I listen... there’s just sort of a lingering tinge of that scenario in the back of my mind, like a sense memory. That doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, I guess – just a personal note.)

The music here is provided by Donovan’s guitar, Shawn Phillips’ sitar, and “Candy” John Carr’s bongos subbing for tabla (quite satisfactorily); eventually a low-pitched violin joins in, playing slightly flat to exquisite effect.³ The lyric is practically haiku-like compared with the previous epic; there are in fact six lines, eight if you count both iterations of the “chorus”. Not a story but a long potent moment of mindfulness: To see a world in a grain of sand... as Blake wrote, or as Donovan puts it, Look at the tiny oceans in my hand, sounding as if he’s inviting you to go for a dip. At almost exactly the midway point the lyric ends and things get swimmy indeed, with Phillips (who supposedly gave Beatle George his first sitar lessons) eventually emerging from the briny with a yearning, twining melody that floats and bobs on the ocean breezes for a fair distance before finally gently coming to rest on the shore.

Moments: the open fifths of Myyyyyy head, and Phillips’ two-note response. The beginning of the instrumental coda, when the slightly flat violin comes in and Phillips momentarily confines himself to rumbling around in his lower register and it’s not really clear just what’s going to happen. The semi-improv contrapuntal duet that Leitch engages Phillips in at the very end.


”The Ferris Wheel” – Though based on a true story – in New York Don met a short-haired young woman who had gotten her long hair caught in the gears of a Ferris wheel and narrowly escaped serious injury - the lyric plays the situation... not for laughs, exactly, the danger is there, but... it’s more of a Make Believe kind of danger, complete with a somewhat fairy-tale-ish villain (the wheel operator who doesn’t wanna hear about the girl’s problem) and a sympathetic seagull. And for all that, it doesn’t feel like a “children’s song” like “Linda” does.

Donovan sounds higher than usual, the music is two chords over and over again with a melody built from the simplest of materials, and the last stanza doesn’t even try. I’m at a loss to properly explain how it could all be so sublime to me.

But there is something in the gentle ebb and flow of the vocal and sitar melodies, the longing and the easy freedom implied in those sustained vocal notes (Walking in the seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea-shore twilight...), the reliable underpinning of the guitar and (somewhat over-prominent) bass, and the forward (but unhurried) motion suggested by the percussion, that gives comfort and reassurance – which is what the song’s about.

Moments: another bit of “foreshadowing” – a lyrical image from later song “The Fat Angel” first appears here, unexplained (it probably just means that Donovan shared his weed with the chick). Tangerine sky, minus one kite – I get the “tangerine sky” image, but “minus one kite”? – does that mean there’s no wind? – does it mean anything? - do I care? – of course not – it sounds lovely. As does the seeming non sequitur casually tagged onto the end of the second chorus – If ever I return... (some online sources have it as reach her but it sounds like return to me). The way the instruments just lazily drift to an ending, like a contented sigh.


”Bert's Blues” – Less than a month before this track was recorded in London, Donovan was in Los Angeles performing a work-in-progress version of the song for the cinema feature The Big T.N.T. Show (sequel to The T.A.M.I. Show). In that rendition (which as of this writing you can experience on YouTube) Donovan basically sang the three stanzas he had, with their two-bar guitar ground, again and again for three minutes - sometimes repeating isolated lines, occasionally shutting up and playing his guitar, as if certain that the song held deep secrets that it would eventually give up to him if he just kept pressing it. It didn’t, or at any rate it wouldn’t. (The live audience was amazingly patient, if you ask me.)

By the time he got to Abbey Road, he had chosen a different tack – effectively, melding two songs with little in common but their ostinato descending bass line. The first is (as Williams noted) like a more brooding “Sunshine Superman” – he still reckons he’ll probably get the girl, “but it’s takin’ time”; for the second, real darkness enters the picture for the first time on the album, with lyrics that don’t make much literal sense but which include references to Lucifer and his legions and a sad wind on its way to Hades. (That's right - Donovan invented Black Sabbath, too.)

Does the mash-up work? With a lot of help from the studio players and John Cameron’s phenomenal arrangement, it does... perhaps not so much as a standalone song, but certainly as a conceptual bridge between “Sunshine Superman” and “Season Of The Witch”.

Moments: Bobby Orr’s metrically deceptive drum intro. The bowed bass transitioning into the second part. Cameron’s improbable yet undeniable harpsichord solo. The transition into the jazzy reprise/coda. Harold McNair's unexpected (and brief) sax solo. The aforementioned unresolved ending (an inspired way to end Side 1... but it works great in the middle of a CD too).


”Season Of The Witch” – Greil Marcus (1979): “[The worlds contained within Sunshine Superman] were mostly benign – but not in the still-scary ‘Season Of The Witch’, where Donovan stretched out his syllables until they hung over you like a curse. This was as sure a warning of the horrors breeding within the idealism [of the hippie moment] as the Stones’ ‘Gimmie Shelter’, and a lot more prescient.”

A band and vocal performance of impressive dynamic control. Donovan plays an electric guitar here - for the first time on record, and for the last time until 1970’s Open Road, if I’m not mistaken (I could be).

Moments: Donovan’s cold-blooded rhythm guitar intro – like an executioner patiently waiting for the signal. His technique (evident throughout this album, and elsewhere) of emphasizing consonants at the ends of select words – When I looK in my window... Must be the season of the wit-CH... (I'll bet Arthur Lee took note). Another odd dropped-in phrase – When I go... (at least, I think that’s what he’s singing). Going where? On a trip?


”The Trip” – When I first got this album, I assumed that this was a drug song.

Years later I learned that Donovan played a ten-night engagement at the short-lived Whisky-A-Go-Go offshoot The Trip while recording the album, and realized that it must be a song about that. (the trip: is a hub of life, a club of life in the vest coat of the americas say Don's original liner notes. I was plum tickled when I finally twigged that "vest coat" was a play on "west coast".)

Then, more years later, I learned that it was inspired by both the club AND a mescalin trip.

It’s all good.

No, actually, it’s all great. It may be the funniest song on the album, and it may be the scariest, too. While it doesn’t sound like Dylan, it shares with Bob’s two 1965 LPs that funny/scary feeling of being in the middle of a fast-moving something that could career out of control at any moment. When Donovan sings What goes on, I really wanna know, he could be just casually asking “What’s new?” – but it sounds more like “Where am I??” This song on its own justifies a lot of what I said way up there about his singing. His phrasing here is ridiculous, just impossibly hip... yet with that vulnerable edge to it. On the final I really wanna know in particular he sounds truly shattered – like someone who’s been up for days and knows he needs to come down but is afraid to.

The name-dropping in the last stanza used to bug me, but I’ve more or less made my peace with it. He’s just detailing a scene he was part of, which is his right (though I’ll be damned if I’m going to invoke the word troubadour here), and at least it doesn’t have the tacky gossipy vibe I get from “Sunny South Kensington” on the Mellow Yellow LP. (I don’t know who the Julian referenced here is - We spoke of a common kaleidoscope / And the pros and the cons of Zen / And he spoke and he said for a piece of cake / He really did have a yen – but I always kinda wanted it to be Julian Lennon, who turned three right around that time and who probably would have liked some cake.) [Belated edit: I recently remembered that Donovan's-wife-to-be Linda Lawrence's son by Brian Jones was named Julian.] I don’t know why this stanza and the Arthurian one that precedes it didn’t get transposed, given what the next song is, and also given that great last line about Methadrine. Seems like a lost opportunity to me, but maybe Don thought that would be too on the nose or something.

Moments: the brittle, foreboding – but swinging – guitar intro. I said, “Girl, you drank a lot of ‘Drink Me’ / But ya ain’t in a Wonderland..." Too many others to mention.


”Guinevere” – A simple fantasy lyrically (Crosby’s is better in that regard), but one of the loveliest pieces of music on the album; every note from the guitar, violin, sitar and larynx, every tap of the drum, is just exactly right, as is every pregnant pause. (I’m trying to think of another pop/rock record, to that historical point, with as much space and stillness embedded in it as this album has. There might be some, but so far I’m not coming up with any of them.)

Moments: those pauses. The delicate pizzicato figure that the violinist plays into those pauses during the instrumental break (and the fact that he only does it twice).


”The Fat Angel” – The most lightweight cut on the album, which seems appropriate for an ode to a weed dealer. No doubt Donovan was high when he wrote this barely-two-chords wonder, which effort probably took him less time than it does for you to listen to it. Besides the dealer, he drops in some shout-outs to Jefferson Airplane and Cass Elliott – for no obvious reason other than that he likes them. It’s loose. It’s nice. A bit of comic relief before the grand finale.

Re: the Airplane reference, Quaco suggested (if I understood his gist) that this comes off like Donovan trying to make himself look hip - like he was catching a ride on their credibility coattails or something. But it was the Spring of ’66 – Jefferson Airplane had only released one flop 45, and aside from a brief tour of British Columbia hadn’t played any gigs outside of California, with few of those outside of San Francisco (yes, I looked it up). Donovan was the star in this equation - he was giving them a leg up. And they liked it: “The Fat Angel” immediately became a long-term staple of their own live set, and a few months later San Francisco chronicler Ralph J. Gleason bragged about Donovan’s tribute in his liner notes to Jefferson Airplane Takes Off. (Their “Plastic Fantastic Lover” sounds like it may have “taken off” from here, to boot.)

Moments: Shawn’s tamboura-like entrance at bar 3. Shawn leaning into an augmented fourth against Donovan’s sung flatted seventh during the Fly Jefferson Airplane bit, making them both sound off-key. Minuscule: Bobby Ray, who plays that cool bass riff, can't seem to figure out how to move it down two frets whenever Donovan goes to the VII chord - so instead he just stops playing and waits for the I chord to come back.


”Celeste” – It really never occurred to me, before taking on this project, just how sonically different this song is from everything else on the album. It’s almost Spectorian in its use of reverb, and the way the organ and violin (in particular) are melted together. It’s not a wall of sound, though – it’s much more porous than that. It doesn’t hit you, it enfolds you. A womb of sound. Arguably, it also boasts the most ambitious harmonic structure and melody of anything on the album. And it’s the only song where Donovan’s guitar isn’t upfront at least some of the time (it’s in there, but perhaps more felt than heard).

Lyrically, too, it stands out, as the author offers a rare confession of self-doubt and disillusion. As there’s no one immediately handy to help him through his dark hour (as he tried to help the Ferris Wheel girl through hers), he has to rely on his own reserves of faith in the resilience of love and fellowship and music and hope and will. Ultimately it’s a hymn to inner fortitude, which a lot of people were going to need as the late sixties loomed into view. A lot of people need it now.

Moments: virtually every moment, but I’ll mention the instrumental dynamics – the way the music breathes, the way it expands and contracts, making plenty of space around Donovan’s (exquisite) vocal one moment and lovingly swaddling it a moment or two later...





Image

“Sunshine Superman”/”Legend Of A Girl Child Linda”/”Bert’s Blues” -
EMI (Abbey Road) Studio 3, London, 19 December 1965:


Donovan – vocals, Gibson J45
John Cameron – harpsichord, arrangements
Bobby Orr – drums
Tony Carr – percussion
Spike Heatley – upright bass
Eric Ford – electric lead guitar (“Sunshine Superman”)
John Paul Jones – electric bass guitar (“Sunshine Superman”)
Jimmy Page – electric rhythm guitar (“Sunshine Superman”)
Danny Thompson – the other upright bass (“Bert’s Blues”, possibly “Linda”)
Harold McNair – sax (“Bert’s Blues”)
other string and woodwind players unknown


all other songs -
Columbia Studios, Hollywood, March - May 1966:


Donovan – vocal, Gibson J45, Fender Telecaster (“Season Of The Witch”)
Shawn Phillips – sitar
“Fast” Eddie Hoh – drums
“Candy” John Carr - percussion
Bobby Ray – bass guitar
Lenny Maitlin – organ
Peter Pilafian – electric violin
Don Brown – electric lead guitar
Cyrus Faryar - bouzouki on "Celeste"
probably John Cameron (overdubbed) – harpsichord and celeste on “Celeste”









¹ he turned 20 within days of finishing the album!

² It's called "Three King Fishers" on the original LP cover and label, and on every reissue since, but I'm convinced that this was a typo inspired by it being the third song on the album; D. sings Twelve kingfishers, and also refers to the song by that name in his liner notes.

³ EMI reissues credit Cyrus Faryar on electric violin (like “Fast” Eddie Hoh, he was a member of the Modern Folk Quintet, who were on the bill with Donovan during his late March/early April residency at The Trip). But in his autobiography, Donovan remembers Peter Pilafian being on violin, and Faryar playing bouzouki on the song “Celeste”. While Donovan’s recall of such details is sometimes less than perfect (e.g. his persistent contention that Led Zeppelin backed him on “Hurdy Gurdy Man”!), in this case I’m inclined to believe him; as far as I know Faryar never played violin on anything (and he was on a number of records in the ‘60s/’70s), whereas it was Pilafian’s main instrument. (Elsewhere, Donovan recalled John Phillips helpfully introducing him to “a few LA musos” when he was looking for session players – Pilafian was very much a part of The Mamas & The Papas’ inner circle.)



=====================================================================================






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Last edited by Charlie O. on 29 Oct 2018, 22:44, edited 12 times in total.
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Canis lupus » 11 May 2017, 08:52

About 20 years ago Mojo (or maybe Q) said George Harrison played the lead guitar solo on "Sunshine Superman".
I believed them (seeing an ironical self-reference to "Can't Buy Me Love").
:evil: half-wits

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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Bent Fabric » 11 May 2017, 14:30

Charlie O. wrote:!!!!



Thank you, Charlie. A loving distillation of a deeply unique, beautiful and masterful record.

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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Count Machuki » 11 May 2017, 14:35

Wow, Charlie O!
Looks like I'll be spending some time with Donovan at lunch. Thanks!
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Then it follows that ∀ k ∈ K: K ∈ U ⇒ k ∉ D

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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 11 May 2017, 14:53

Bent Fabric wrote:
Charlie O. wrote:!!!!



Thank you, Charlie. A loving distillation of a deeply unique, beautiful and masterful record.

Not sure it can be called a distillation if it takes more time to read than it does to listen to the record, but thanks! :)
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Bent Fabric » 11 May 2017, 15:03

For me "Guinnevere", "Celeste" and "Season" have always been the "DAMN, dude!" components, but - you are correct: it hangs together beautifully in a way that a lot of his more generously remembered peers' LP length contributions to that era really don't.

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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Quaco » 16 Aug 2017, 06:15

OK, tomorrow, I'm going to listen again with CO's notes in front of me!
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 16 Aug 2017, 06:35

:) Oddly enough I edited that post earlier this evening! (Mainly to replace a Photobucket image that wasn't displaying anymore.)
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Quaco » 22 Oct 2018, 10:53

Interestingly, just bought this album again. Although it was the UK version with the 'Mellow Yelliw' tracks on it. Couldn't help it!

And still haven't actually listened to it with Charlie's notes at hand. But I will.
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 22 Oct 2018, 17:14

And weirdly enough - see our previous pair of posts - I edited it just before I went to bed last night (to correct some wayward formatting)...
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 29 Oct 2018, 22:42

[oops]
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Muskrat » 30 Oct 2018, 04:52

Charlie O. wrote:
”The Ferris Wheel” ... in New York Don met a short-haired young woman who had gotten her long hair caught in the gears of a Ferris wheel and narrowly escaped serious injury -


A foreshadowing of Shawn Phillips' accident.


I drove down from Ventura, where I was living with my prents, to see Donovan at the Trip. I think it was just him and Phillips, though Eddie Hoh may have been playing with the MFQ, who opened.

The Trip was in the old Crescendo club, across Sunset from the then-Continental Hotel, later the Riot House.

I may have mentioned some of this in an earlier post.
Things that a fella can't forget...

zoomboogity wrote:Psych should be fun, carefree, whimsical, colorful, anything but portentous...Otherwise, you might as well listen to prog.

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Charlie O.
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Re: Donovan - late sixties

Postby Charlie O. » 30 Oct 2018, 05:04

Muskrat wrote:
Charlie O. wrote:
”The Ferris Wheel” ... in New York Don met a short-haired young woman who had gotten her long hair caught in the gears of a Ferris wheel and narrowly escaped serious injury -


A foreshadowing of Shawn Phillips' accident.

:!: Never thought of that!
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