The Flock “The Flock”

It starts out with a violin-heavy “overture” called “Introduction”—should I write a song called “Introduction”—the absurdity of it! Maybe a song called “Preface” and one called “Foreword”—anyway, it’s nice for what it is—it sounds kind of like the soundtrack for a comically pretentious short documentary film depicting the trimming of an aristocrat’s moustache. It’s a great lead-in to the heavy-duty rock opening of the next one—an 8-minute song called “Clown”—this one is pretty hot—heavy-duty for a bit—and then has a really nice, cooking violin bridge part—and that leads to a really long, lingering instrumental that sounds like a slow coda—is that the ending of a song? Where normally it would fade out after the right amount of time—but instead, there’s a crazy sax and trumpet part—dueling saxes (and trumpet, I guess)—and then more fading, just the bass left playing this repetitious part… and then right back into it! “I Am the Tall Tree”—starts out slow and quiet, harmonizing, then builds and builds—huge dynamic shift—it even has a little bridge where they sing “The Russians are coming” repeatedly—I wonder if I can find all the lyrics—it’s an epic in under six minutes. Finally, “Tired of Waiting”—credited to The Flock—but it’s The Kinks’ hit (minus “For You”)—just a wacky take on it—a really good version, actually—maybe this was intended to be the “single” even though not (remotely) seeming like a singles band—if you took out the violin intro, it could be shaved down to four minutes—so maybe? It has a great guitar solo—you had to imagine the ol’ Kinks were approving of this version, unless they were just being jealous wankers about it. Or didn’t like it being credited to “The Flock” rather than R. Davies—I wonder if there’s a story there?

Side 2 explodes and catches on fire immediately with a classic speaker-melter—no really, there’s something smoking (oh, I was drying a pan, I always do that, and forget), a drum break, then nuts guitar solo, cowbell, then it stops for a vocal: “store bought, store thought,” and then heavy jam again, then some vocals I can’t understand—then it drops down to just acoustic guitar and flute, and dude is singing about “robots” (what the hell?)—then back to an insane instrumental part that actually tops the opening. And more of the same—I can’t understand the lyrics at all—a great song, another epic, seven minutes. Whew. Then, an extended—and I mean… 15 minutes plus (uh, oh) song called “Truth” (uh, oh), it’s an extended blues, and dude is a fine blues singer, and the violin is a very nice blues compliment—but then it goes into a long, long, long instrumental that wears out its welcome about seven minutes in. Well, there’s some hot sax in there, but it’s a relief when we get back to the bluesy stuff, and singing—and then it finishes out with cacophony—excellent!

The album cover got my attention—an odd font: “The Flock”—and a black and white group photo that appears to be maybe the stillest moment they could pull off—several of them engaged in smoking various substances. I’m not listing the band member names—because there are so many of them (and I’m assuming that reader has the internet and can happily research what each band member has done post this band). Name-wise, you might get them confused with the NYC law firm, Glickstein, Goodman, Karpman, Smith, Canoff, Webb, and Posa (though not with “A Flock of Lawyers,” the infamous 1980s Kent, Ohio zine). Seven longhaired white guys, all but one with facial hair, two with sunglasses, one with a hat, and a lot of leather. If I didn’t know better I might have guessed they were part of the cast of a Fassbinder film, or a European prog/experimental band with a name like (    ) pick any obscure, ancient deity here—they have all been used as band names!

Why weren’t they a bigger success (i.e., household name) than they were? We’ll have to wait for the inevitable documentary, I suppose (every documentary is these days inevitable). It’s not like it was too early, 1969, for that extent of fusion of styles and genres and approaches—well, maybe it was too early—a lot going on musically here. Maybe because it’s a band band, without an obvious focus, like front man—though I’m suspecting that the dude (Jerry Goodman?) whose picture is on the back album cover—flying hair, no shirt, wailing violin—would have gotten your attention. Liner notes by John Mayall that are quite glowing—he says they’re the best band he’d heard in America. And so they are! I mean, what is success anyway—they had this record on Columbia, and a follow-up record (which I’m going to try to find) and then some more, later. They are certainly the best band playing here in Speen HQ on a Friday in 2025—and as far as I’m concerned, that translates to immortality, which is a lot more impressive than one annoying radio hit that still gets played on “oldies” formats and makes your ears bleed and want to give up on popular culture.

5.16.25