VELVET THUNDER

What we have with these three albums – though not in this order – is one which is very good, one which is quite exceptional, and one oddity which couldn’t be more schizoid if it heard voices telling it to kill your CD player…

Well now, here’s something which really did NOT turn out in the least how I expected it. To set the scene, Dear Mr Time (who you probably haven’t heard of. That’s fine, neither had I) were originally around at the dawn of the 1970s when, in line with many fascinating obscurities of this type, they recorded a sole album before imploding and disappearing in a tidal wave of public apathy. Like many of these curios, the album later became a sought-after collectors’ item on vinyl, fetching significant sums whenever it appeared. Now, where things differ here is that the three discs contained herein are not the expected fare of out-takes or live recordings from the time, rescued from down the back of the studio sofa. Indeed, the second and third discs feature two more albums which were recorded and released later, after the band reunited. The key word here is ‘later’, as the second Dear Mr Time album appeared in 2015, which is a surely unbeatable gap of FORTY FOUR YEARS since its predecessor. It’s hard to imagine a longer gap between albums being achieved without the benefit of reincarnation or, at the very least, a group of people joining hands around a table in the dark…

It doesn’t stop there, as a third album was then recorded, arriving this time after a mere three years, which one can imagine passing like a minute in regular human time for these guys. Now, even knowing all of this, the smart money would still be on a simple case of diminishing returns, with the fascinating original being followed by the good effort of the follow-up and finally the magic disappearing altogether for the third. The smart money would, however, actually be the foolish and embarrassed money in this case, as no pattern of the sort emerges. What we have with these three albums – though not in this order – is one which is very good, one which is quite exceptional, and one oddity which couldn’t be more schizoid if it heard voices telling it to kill your CD player. Read on, and let’s see where Dear Mr Time take us…

The initial album is called Grandfather, giving its name to the title of this collection. Released in February 1971, it’s actually a conceptual piece telling the story of a man’s life from birth to death. Now, this wasn’t an original idea even then (yes, sit down S F Sorrow by The Pretty Things, we know you’re there), but it is surprisingly well-executed, even now not appearing too dated. The influences are clear throughout: the album comes across as something of a cross between The Moody Blues and King Crimson’s first album. The former supplies the concise nature of the songwriting, and the way with an often simple but effective melody and easily understandable lyric, while the latter supplies the sometimes angular instrumentation, the sax and the sometimes quirky urgency. The whole thing holds together pretty well still, with tracks like Make Your Peace and the double header Prelude / Your Country Needs You being particular highlights. It really is worth a listen, and not merely for the curious. Thirteen (!) bonus tracks are appended, being mostly acoustic demos recorded by guitarist Chris Baker, and they are a mixed bag as you would expect – though one or two of them, such as A Song Of Fairgrounds for example, really could have been made into something very good. They are, however, a bonus in the very real sense, and far from essential.

Now, we fast forward as a kind of montage through such trifles as the invention of video recorders, mobile phones, DVD, CD, satellite television, the entire life-cycle of Britain in the EU, and something called the internet, and reach the second album. Which is called Brontosaurs And Bling. Yes, that’s right. We waited four decades and two generations and got the title Brontosaurs And Bling. Thanks guys. Still, how is the reinvention? Well, in actual fact this is the real up-and-down album. That’s ‘up and down’ in the sense of a bungee jump from 3,000 feet by the way. Because this album, while bearing almost no relation to its predecessor in sonic terms whatsoever, also contains three absolute classics suspended above a sea of mediocrity. From the opening Pig Heaven, it’s clear that things have very much changed, with a crooningly smooth pop sound dominating, while vocalist Barry Everitt’s voice has changed so dramatically from its original pleasant timbre to a chocolatey-sweet deep baritone that I actually had to double check that it was the same man. The first four tracks hop by like a cheery hybrid of Modern Romance and Haircut 100, with the almost unbearably jolly travelogue I Don’t Understand (Peru) the worst offender. Just as the slush of Like The First Time Again is threatening to give us all Type One Diabetes by proxy, something remarkable happens. The fifth track, On Hallowed Ground arrives, and all bets are off. It’s suddenly powerfully-played, edgy yet melodic prog with a real kick in its boots, and the band have almost visibly found their lost mojo. It’s so unexpected as to be utterly joyful. But here’s the thing: it gets even better. Well, not immediately, as It’s Only Love / Tomorrow Is Another Day threatens to derail things again immediately, but with track seven, Sitting In An English Garden, we get the best song on the first and second discs combined, with a brilliantly clever and wittily sardonic lyric referencing the 1960s via an English summer’s day, being perfectly matched by a delightfully upbeat psych-pop tune which simply entrances. It’s the best song that XTC never wrote. Following this, Pigs In Outer Space, despite the odd title (the second pig reference, for some reason), almost repeats the trick with another slice of pure power-pop genius, borrowing a hint of Peter Frampton’s Baby I Love Your Way, and turning it into a much better song while they do so. At this point, the album has become really exciting, but unfortunately we’re at the high point of that bungee jump here, and about to plummet. The remaining five tracks (climaxing with a reprise of Peru for some unfathomable reason) never reach those heights again – though are also never quite as weak as the first four songs. It’s a far from essential album overall, to say the least, but if those three tracks, along with perhaps the pleasingly funky Streetwise, were put together as an EP, it would be as close to greatness as you could get.

There are six unreleased tracks as well, but we’ll leave them for the moment, as will become clear. Next up is the 2018 album, the unimaginatively titled Time, but against every single expectation we could possibly have, this turns out to be a dyed in the wool classic album. Taking the best facets of the highlights of the previous record, the band manage to turn out a razor-sharp, satirical and witty art-pop album which has the best qualities of XTC and 10cc / Godley & Creme written through it like a stick of rock. The difference from the previous album is astonishing, as if they have taken a trip to Robert Johnson’s crossroads in order to become the spiritual heirs to 10cc. From the opening ‘Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds homage’ of the darkly cynical Acid Rain through to the final deftly delivered eco-message of The Houses In Between, there is no weak song here among the thirteen tracks. Today Is Such A Lovely Day is irresistible no matter how hard you try, Elephants Dump is hilariously clever while Never Done Godspell lists all of the low points and degrading indignities the protagonist has been forced to endure during his life and career, with the repeated caveat ‘but I’ve never done Godspell…’ Some of the stuff here is honestly like Zappa fronting the Kursaal Flyers, it’s that perfect a distillation of that slyly, sardonic art-pop that the previous album missed by the length of a football pitch. Best of all, and for me the standout song on the whole three disc set, is the hymn to rampant entitled consumerism and greed which is Gimme Jam. Interspersed with the constant urgent demands to ‘Gimme Jam’, we get brilliant lines such as ‘Gimme champagne and caviar for sophistication / Gimme real French coffee for my constipation’ and, best of all, ‘Gimme new Maseratis to a monthly quota / Gimme GaGa and Cheryl on a nightly rota – Gimme Jam!’- all this to a leg-pumping boogie accompaniment which just makes you want to put it straight back on when its finished.

As I mentioned above there are unreleased bonus tracks which are made up of eight here in addition to a further six on the previous disc, recorded for a proposed fourth album, and they really should be released in that form. Perhaps with a couple left on the studio floor, as the ghastly We’re Only Human and one or two of the other unremarkable tracks fall into the ‘second album’ trap, but songs like the effervescent and infectious Full Circle, the darkly Kinks-like six minute character portrait Archie Vine (about a man who happily works burning bodies in the neighbourhood charnel house, and seemingly loves his work) and the rather lovely closing There Is No More (You Do It All) are all of a standard worthy of the Time album.

The main thrust of the promotion here, and indeed almost all of the accompanying booklet, is based around the Grandfather album, which is understandable as it has its collectable and cult reputation – but despite the undeniable quality of that album, it is still outshone by the unheralded ‘underdog’ Time. Get this set. Enjoy Grandfather. Get frustrated by Brontosaurs. But fall in love with Time. The latter is the most surprised by an album I’ve been in a very, very long … well … Time. Inspired stuff.