greenfuzz
Orlyn Class
- Joined
- Apr 23, 2011
Anyone got the scoop on Clyde & The Nightswingers? I can’t tell if these are supposed to be authentic ‘67 recordings or a marketing ploy for a current group. The notes are fairly cryptic.
https://www.feelitrecordshop.com/co...enormous-midnight-and-nine-other-nocturnes-lp
Clyde and The Nightswingers entered the record world scores of years after first recording. In 2010 Arcania International issued The Enormous Midnight/On The Elevator Up to disappointing sales. A messed up pressing was in part the reason why only about 200 7” 45s made their way into the marketplace. Yet the few critiques the flop garnered were positive. Some threads follow.
Norfolk Hardcore “As mysteriously as they arrived on my turntable…”
Permanent Records “We’re not sure how this was kept a secret for so damn long.”
Terminal Boredom “…shocking that a Psych song this good has never been heard before.”
Ugly Things “The mysterious Clyde and The Nightswingers…”
Music well received. Still, those quotes also emphasize a unified observation, and it is one that inquires after a point of origin for a revolving cast. As it is, that point remains “mysterious”. Why? “Clyde” wishes to remain anonymous, a pseudonym. The Nightswingers also are near anon., a non-group. Hazy as the leader’s auto-bio may be, he bestows kudos to four forgotten black shaded session men. Guess who? But mostly it’s shifters; half a dozen or so come and go players. Add a dedication to Frankie, a pal who died young. Sound effects records he loved, adding aero clashes, fireworks and siren sounds at the title tunes’ 1:00 mark. His charged guitar spurs the movement, creates mini-movements. Listen at 3:21 as he slips in a psyched up little black egg-like lick. Too bad he’s only on two more cuts (Side 1 #2/Side 2 #1). Side 1 #4/Side 2 #2 feature an upright bassist who bows and a drummer with vibes. Their jazzbo coloration brings out more dissonance. Fuzziness on Should I Choose (?) becomes clear. While mostly dark there is a theme - the me - soul searching before too late. Death wish words and wah-wah come from what else but Wah-Wah Baby? Nothing. The “leader” had coasted by then. No one followed. And so - session men. Glass-like blows their fulsome R&B progression that signs Side 1 off to dead wax. A dead end for a side of Clyde, who dreamed up these songs, sings, plays guitar on all but those that end each side and plays harmonica on all those having harmonica. And due to their input, Clyde wishes to stress that all the music on this record is - Arranged by Nightswingers.
In Los Angeles in 1967, art filmmaker, all around artist and Sci-Fi fellow, William Rotsler, supplemented his talents with LSD to shoot footage for a crazed plot intriguingly entitled The Enormous Midnight. In due time, Clyde drifted in from some far away swampy place. What swampy place? “Uncertain,” he says. Then like some kind of past tense time mirrors, Nightswingers banded (on & off) to reflect a libretto for the misadventures of a poet-bum, as played by the filmmaker himself. Airmen on acid fly by as a home full of delinquent girls, also on acid, organize an orgy below. Up in the attic - tuned to the static.
Static was awash when the “Theme” was cut. Too late for footage on the cutting room floor. Outtakes into Rated X project. Negative cashed in for silver slivers in the art flick garbage? Garage garbage, as most thought Sixties Punk music to be, soon morphed into some kind of artsy merit via Psychedelia; for better ore. Unfulfilled things still lie about, unfulfilled things, like this. What was last heard as an instrumental now shrieks out its title. On The Elevator Up is present with vocals. And it still comes with string scrapes that tear like unthreading cables down a harp panned shaft. Fright Time Chills has XX, bright lime pills, a ghost chorus due to imprinted tape, a blown out harp, tremolo guitar and an explosion with a scream trapped in it. Rib It follows Frankie’s lead by lifting a variety of amphibious croaks from a record’s grooves. Late Last Night is in like dawn and out like dusk. Brisk, with bolero accents. Echolalia chases The High Flavored as the band plays fast. So fast in fact that we slowed it down 6 seconds via 21st C. technology. Permission granted. That spoken sigh at the end - “I hope you’re finished,” comes from Clyde’s girlfriend - Joy. His cut off laughter indicates he knows she’s still with him. And so a happy ending for the one who dreamed up these songs and the character within them.
But before that, the wears of confusion darken like a boggy swampscape. Those “arrangers” fortified the soundstage with tape loops - echoplex - tube inferno - sound effects - sad croaks, and so on. Too much drifting into ether, arsonistic passages, etc? No, that adds to the friction and the fun. Yes, there is little fuzz box, but distortion there is. So then when they scattered, fidelity’s infinite laws funneled all Nightswinger noise back to a garage-zoned nest, like trash. Fate tossed their songs into canisters, sealing the lids. At last they can “ooze through the seal.” Stereo channels The Enormous Midnight as close to quasar as we could hope for. Aligned with nocturnes that flower as if powered by deadly nightshade, are sounds that might animate some thing that is still within you. Look out; the moon may rise some evening, pulling you off with Clyde and The Nightswingers.
https://www.feelitrecordshop.com/co...enormous-midnight-and-nine-other-nocturnes-lp
Clyde and The Nightswingers entered the record world scores of years after first recording. In 2010 Arcania International issued The Enormous Midnight/On The Elevator Up to disappointing sales. A messed up pressing was in part the reason why only about 200 7” 45s made their way into the marketplace. Yet the few critiques the flop garnered were positive. Some threads follow.
Norfolk Hardcore “As mysteriously as they arrived on my turntable…”
Permanent Records “We’re not sure how this was kept a secret for so damn long.”
Terminal Boredom “…shocking that a Psych song this good has never been heard before.”
Ugly Things “The mysterious Clyde and The Nightswingers…”
Music well received. Still, those quotes also emphasize a unified observation, and it is one that inquires after a point of origin for a revolving cast. As it is, that point remains “mysterious”. Why? “Clyde” wishes to remain anonymous, a pseudonym. The Nightswingers also are near anon., a non-group. Hazy as the leader’s auto-bio may be, he bestows kudos to four forgotten black shaded session men. Guess who? But mostly it’s shifters; half a dozen or so come and go players. Add a dedication to Frankie, a pal who died young. Sound effects records he loved, adding aero clashes, fireworks and siren sounds at the title tunes’ 1:00 mark. His charged guitar spurs the movement, creates mini-movements. Listen at 3:21 as he slips in a psyched up little black egg-like lick. Too bad he’s only on two more cuts (Side 1 #2/Side 2 #1). Side 1 #4/Side 2 #2 feature an upright bassist who bows and a drummer with vibes. Their jazzbo coloration brings out more dissonance. Fuzziness on Should I Choose (?) becomes clear. While mostly dark there is a theme - the me - soul searching before too late. Death wish words and wah-wah come from what else but Wah-Wah Baby? Nothing. The “leader” had coasted by then. No one followed. And so - session men. Glass-like blows their fulsome R&B progression that signs Side 1 off to dead wax. A dead end for a side of Clyde, who dreamed up these songs, sings, plays guitar on all but those that end each side and plays harmonica on all those having harmonica. And due to their input, Clyde wishes to stress that all the music on this record is - Arranged by Nightswingers.
In Los Angeles in 1967, art filmmaker, all around artist and Sci-Fi fellow, William Rotsler, supplemented his talents with LSD to shoot footage for a crazed plot intriguingly entitled The Enormous Midnight. In due time, Clyde drifted in from some far away swampy place. What swampy place? “Uncertain,” he says. Then like some kind of past tense time mirrors, Nightswingers banded (on & off) to reflect a libretto for the misadventures of a poet-bum, as played by the filmmaker himself. Airmen on acid fly by as a home full of delinquent girls, also on acid, organize an orgy below. Up in the attic - tuned to the static.
Static was awash when the “Theme” was cut. Too late for footage on the cutting room floor. Outtakes into Rated X project. Negative cashed in for silver slivers in the art flick garbage? Garage garbage, as most thought Sixties Punk music to be, soon morphed into some kind of artsy merit via Psychedelia; for better ore. Unfulfilled things still lie about, unfulfilled things, like this. What was last heard as an instrumental now shrieks out its title. On The Elevator Up is present with vocals. And it still comes with string scrapes that tear like unthreading cables down a harp panned shaft. Fright Time Chills has XX, bright lime pills, a ghost chorus due to imprinted tape, a blown out harp, tremolo guitar and an explosion with a scream trapped in it. Rib It follows Frankie’s lead by lifting a variety of amphibious croaks from a record’s grooves. Late Last Night is in like dawn and out like dusk. Brisk, with bolero accents. Echolalia chases The High Flavored as the band plays fast. So fast in fact that we slowed it down 6 seconds via 21st C. technology. Permission granted. That spoken sigh at the end - “I hope you’re finished,” comes from Clyde’s girlfriend - Joy. His cut off laughter indicates he knows she’s still with him. And so a happy ending for the one who dreamed up these songs and the character within them.
But before that, the wears of confusion darken like a boggy swampscape. Those “arrangers” fortified the soundstage with tape loops - echoplex - tube inferno - sound effects - sad croaks, and so on. Too much drifting into ether, arsonistic passages, etc? No, that adds to the friction and the fun. Yes, there is little fuzz box, but distortion there is. So then when they scattered, fidelity’s infinite laws funneled all Nightswinger noise back to a garage-zoned nest, like trash. Fate tossed their songs into canisters, sealing the lids. At last they can “ooze through the seal.” Stereo channels The Enormous Midnight as close to quasar as we could hope for. Aligned with nocturnes that flower as if powered by deadly nightshade, are sounds that might animate some thing that is still within you. Look out; the moon may rise some evening, pulling you off with Clyde and The Nightswingers.
