We’re technically jumping into the ‘70s with these compilations when there’s still plenty left in the ‘60s worth mentioning. The Procol Harum assortment with the inexplicably celestial cover is from ’73, Spooky Tooth’s set with peeking tiger from ’76.
If you’ve spent time listening to any of these alternate versions of Fleetwood Mac’s beloved behemoths, whether in vinyl form (like this parallel Tusk) or via scores of tracks that litter deluxe-edition digital copies, you’ve got to admit: Sometimes it’s really hard to discern much difference between outtakes and finished products.
If you’re just joining this ongoing journey through the decades-deep A&M Records catalog — my way of memorializing that label’s late great co-founder Jerry Moss, who died in August at 88 — let me bring you up to speed.
Because I’m not a boomer who came of age in the ‘60s, I neither fell for these cross-pollinated charmers as a swingin’ sophisticate nor first became aware of Brazilian music via the global smash — Stan Getz & João Gilberto’s ‘The Girl from Ipanema,’ with aloofly dreamy vocals from the late Astrud Gilberto — that put the beguiling sound of bossa nova on a wider musical map.
Gawd, not this thing again.
I confess: My deep dive into Christine McVie’s discography that began soon after her death last December has been stalled for far too long by Rumours.
I can understand why even ardent Fleetwood Mac fans find it difficult to say they genuinely like this ninth album, the fourth and last to feature Bob Welch — and the first recorded as a quartet, since Bob Weston got the boot after boinking Jenny Boyd. She was Mick’s wife at the time, after all.
Just when I thought I was back on track with my deep dive into Christine McVie’s lengthy discography we got smacked twice with miserable attention-diverting news: first Jeff Beck departed, then David Crosby.
So, again … where were we?
Ah, yes: late ‘73, in full fracturing transition.