Irony is necessary as a buffer against the surrealism of things in general, but there are times when it gets to be as much of a mother as anything else. Jesse Colin Young and the Young-bloods have been making very good music for years, and failing to get the audiences they deserved. The major reason for this has been the ineptitude, lack of vision, etc. of the record companies they have worked for—RCA (the group), Capitol and Mercury (Jesse, as a single). On his first two LPs, Soul of a City Boy and Young Blood, Jesse displayed more voice, soul and technical acuity than most of his folky contemporaries, but the labels spent virtually nothing on him—although songs like "Suzie" or "Greenhill Mountain Home" could have sold as singles, with a little hype. (This was back in the days when record companies were starting to gear toward albums and were still gasping at the decline of the singles market.)

Later, when rock folked, or folk rocked, or whatever, he joined up with the Jerry Corbitt Trio and became leader of the Young-bloods. They produced two albums—The Youngbloods and Earth Music, that were nice and warm but didn't really sell, despite steady appreciation of tunes like "Get Together" and "Grizzly Bear," and a solid "underground" reputation. After the second album, Corbitt split from the group and things weren't looking too good. Then, in April, 1969, Elephant Mountain was released. It was the Youngbloods' best effort (although maybe just a little too heavy on the "documentary" techniques—beeps, recording directions), with songs like "Darkness, Darkness" and "Sunlight" that were among the strongest of the year. Again, no action from the company, no singles, nothing.

Jesse and the remaining Youngbloods, Joe Bauer and Banana, decided on direct action: they formed their own label, Raccoon, and affiliated with Warner Brothers. Warner is spending plenty on this new album and, of course, it's not so hot.

The major fault is the quality of the recording—much of it is live—but there is also a musical malaise. Rocking songs like "Faster all the Time" and "Peepin' N Hidin'" which depend on drive for maximum effect never accelerate past second gear; an oddity like "Fiddler a Dram," which depends on a Druid-like drone for authenticity (hear "Fiddler" by the Holy Modal Rounders) can only sound (negatively) weird on electric strings that segue unnaturally into jazz improvisation; and on cuts like "Josianne" and "On Beautiful Lake Spenard," Banana's minor key blues and waltz-time fusions, Bauer's tasty drums and Jesse's great vocals and good bass work are muddied by the shoddy sound. (I keep thinking of the aural distortion that might result if somebody tried recording inside a section of Orangeburg pipe.) There is also too much "documentary" noise, again.

Most of these takes were cut at places like the Family Dog and Provo Park, but even allowing for the problems of live sound, the result is awful. It is unfortunate that a group as good as this may get its broadest exposure via its weakest record.

One possible salvation could be the release of a single—"It's A Lovely Day," the first song on the album and one of those acoustic wonders that Jesse was so good at back in the old days. KSAN has been playing it in San Francisco, so Warner Brothers or Raccoon or whoever decides these things should think about it. (RS 71)

JOHN LOMBARDI