60s – devizine.com

As much as I enjoyed Django Unchained, I’ve not seen the other Tarantino spaghetti western pastiche yet, but I think I should cap it until such a time ol’ QT hires Captain Rico and the Ghost Band to score it.

Echoes of a gothic Ennio Morricone in his darkest hour shudder through this epic instrumental album, transporting you to an alternate reality where The Shadows came after Hawkwind.

A realm where rock history is suffering the same fate as Benjamin Button, created as Britpop, slowly working its way back to rock n roll, and we’re about halfway; USA in the mid-sixties, hardcore surfing with the Beach Boys. Indeed, the sound of ‘The Forgotten Memory of The Beaches,’ which was unleashed last Friday on Spider Music, is inspired by the classic surf-rock sound, pioneered by the likes of The Shadows, The Beach Boys, and The Ventures, yet it’s heavier, man, like vintage psychedelia heavier.

For this, I have to say, amidst sonic blasts, flares of garage fuzz and dark post-punk drumming undertones, there’s nothing really definable as in-your-face heavy metal here, more Chuck Berry’s Gibson ES-355 taken for a journey by Dave Murray, and for this it’s completely unique; a warlock’s cauldron in which he adds a tablespoonful of Duane Eddy and a pinch of The Cramps.

This incredible sound of sixties Southern California has been recaptured and reshaped by a trio based in the South of France, guitarist Damien Ricaud, Yves Manceau on percussion, and bassist Ludovic Timoteo, and it’s a breathless race. Given the psychedelic swirls of space rock at the beginning, you assume you’re in for a mellow trip, assume as Pink Floyd, there will be peaks and troughs, but through a magnitude of twelve relentless three-to-four-minute tracks, it rarely comes up for air.

Neither does it poke a standalone track at you, given it’s completely instrumental, without the hint of sampled spoken word, it flows right through as one masterpiece of mind-blowing nuanced mayhem, causing you wonder what the heck to listen to, or even do next. But for me, makes it tricky to nail a few direct words about it, to pick it apart, reason enough to love it.

On our local circuit, guitar heroes Innes Sibun jamming with Ruzz Evans might come somewhere close to capturing something similar. Should they choose to, because despite these sixties’ surfer influences cited in its press release, The Rivieras, for example, would’ve reacted like the crowd at the Under the Sea Dance scene in Back to the Future, when Marty blasts Johnny B Goode, or in reality, the impact Hendrix had on music. Captain Rico and the Ghost Band really are, this exciting.

If I waffle positively here, and yes, I do waffle, about retrospection and a trend in sounds trying to be authentically from a time of yore, this one doesn’t need to try. The Broadway Recording Sessions thrusts you rearward into the eighty’s mod revival scene, whether you want to go there or not.

Battersea trio, The Direct Hits may only be remembered by the connoisseur of mod, having one-shot at charting in ’82, when TV presenter Dan Treacy released their song, Modesty Blaise on his Whamm! imprint. The music press hailed this as not just another Jam, crash-bang-wallop mod revivalist tune, and their explosive live shows avowed them pioneers of a “Battersea Beat.”

Whamm were financially struggling to fund an album, so the band pooled their limited resources and booked the cheapest studio time they could find, Tooting’s Broadway Sounds. By the afternoon they had knocked out nine songs, the other three on this album were recorded a fortnight later. It would be two years later when they re-recorded some of these songs for their debut album “Blow Up.”

Now remastered, these lost recordings have surfaced finally, and, with warts and all, show the uncooked spirit of a hopeful mod garage band. I’ve had this playing for a few weeks since it’s late February release, and it heralds the hallmarks of a post-punk return to the basics, which sixties groups like The Kinks and The Small Faces mastered. To expect this yardstick is pushing it, but through all its rawness there’s some beguilingly adroit songs to make you wonder why they wasn’t as their namesake suggests, direct hits!

Perhaps it was that bit too retrospective for the progressive eighties. Because, elements capture neo-psychedelia, rather than soulful eighties mod assigned via The Spencer Davis Group and into bands like The Merton Parkas. That era where the beatnik style was teetering on influencing the pop sound, but Merseybeat was still riding the high ground. There’s a delicate balance here, avoiding things getting too cliché Mamas & Papas, these upbeat three-minute-heroes never fails to kick ass.

Consistently high-spirted and energetic garage sound, yet psychedelically enhanced; think if Syd Barrett’s days spent at Pink Floyd would’ve been spent with The Who instead, and you get the idea. There’s even a bike song, just like on Relics. Lyrically there’s unassuming stories with clear narratives and characters to challenge the Beatles.

A polished rerecording of a track from the album.

Overall, though, you’ve got twelve mind-blowing rarities which perfectly capture a raw moment of youthful optimism for an inspiring band, in an era where everyone felt encouraged to pick up an instrument and give it bash; and they’re good, really good. In a funny kind of way, I see similarities to the now; the forgone passing of DJ culture in a rave new world and tasteless manufactured pop, to an imminent inclination of online DIY indie, I see hopefuls taking to a guitar and giving it a go. Perhaps then, there’s no time like the present for this to resurface.