The Jeff Beck Group “Beck-Ola”

Is this (officially) Jeff Beck or The Jeff Beck Group? The label says Jeff Beck. The front cover and spine say, merely, Beck-Ola. The back of the album cover (not always the authority or anything) says: Beck-Ola, Cosa Nostra, and The Jeff Beck Group. So take your pick, I guess! Beck-Ola is a great album cover title, particularly if a guy in the group is named Beck-something. If I was Beck, you know, one-name Beck, I’d say “fuck it” and call one of my records “Beck-Ola.” Maybe he has, I don’t keep up. The cover just says “Beck-Ola” in the world’s thinest, most fragile looking non-serif font—it’s excellent. No band name necessary. Album cover is one giant green apple. I always assumed it was a photo, but then looking closely, I see it’s a painting of a giant apple, next to an open window and a slice of blue sky. I immediately thought Magritte, and the minimal credits on back say cover painting: “La Chambre d’Ecoute” by René Magritte. I probably should have known that. Well, I do now. (“The Listening Room.”) (French.) What’s with “Cosa Nostra,” on back, under Beck-Ola? (“Our Thing”) (Italian.) Which, yeah, unless they’re tongue ‘n cheek referring to themselves as “The Mafia,” which for a bunch of longhaired English blokes is a good way to get yourself whacked. Not everyone has a sense of humor. But I don’t know—you’d have to ask “Extraordinaire” Rod Stewart (a title I’m fine with, as vocalist, and if you have any doubt, this record confirms). Or Ron Wood, or Nicky Hopkins, or Tony Newman, or Jeff Beck. I don’t know if they referred to this as a “Super Group,” at the time, but they are one. None of them got whacked, I don’t think—I should look this up before press time.

The uncredited liner notes—not really liner notes, more like a mission statement, in oversized italics—is/are so hilarious—I’ll just type it here: “Today, with all the hard competition in the music business, it’s almost impossible to come up with anything totally original. So we haven’t— However, at the time this album was made, the accent was on heavy music. So sit back and listen and try and decide if you can find a small place in your heads for it.” I love it. Spot o’ tea? Well, personally, I did find a place in my heads for it. Normally when I see a record with covers of both “All Shook Up” and “Jailhouse Rock” I’m ready to flee the sock-hop. But these versions are great—transformed totally into birth of heavy metal—Jeff Beck and Ron Wood together, pretty great. Rod Stewart is the best. “Spanish Boots” is my favorite song here, it’s heaviest, funkiest, and shortest (almost)—if you had a whole record of songs at this level, this’d be the record of 1969. But writing songs, especially good ones, isn’t that easy. Try it. “Girl from Mill Valley” is, I suppose, contrast. Side 2 is not bad either—”The Hangman’s Knee” is my favorite—the sludgiest, heaviest blues on the offering—I’m not sure what it’s about—maybe I don’t want to know. And then… “Rice Pudding.” A song with that name is all the reason you need to buy the record. It’s not the best song here, or anything, but it’s okay, a meandering blues rock wankfest. The problem, however, is that rice pudding is my very favorite dessert. It is, in fact, one the Eighth Wonders of the World. Or, I don’t know, narrow it down—Three Wonders of the World—that’s even better. Cats, Tacos, Rice Pudding. Or, Sex, Drugs, Rice Pudding. You could build an empire on it. Name your band, or dog, or memoir… Rice Pudding! So, anyway, if you name a song that… it better be the best song ever recorded. This isn’t. But it’s okay, I guess, and long. The funny thing is, it’s got no composed, improvised, or wangdoodled ending, and they don’t even bother to fade out. The sound just cuts off abruptly. Pretty funny. Know why they ended it that way? I’m guessing because, in the studio, they just went on and on and on and on. They might still, to this day, be skeletons in there playing “Rice Pudding”—if the janitor hadn’t trundled in, sloshing mop water all over the place.

10.30.26