Rotary Connection “The Rotary Connection”

This should be the kind of record that’s legendary, hard to find, and thus costs a million dollars… but it’s easy to find—so we’re lucky. It’s still legendary. The 1967 LP is the first of six Rotary Connection records that came out by 1971—I’ve never seen the other five—I’ll keep my eye out for them. The band name sounds inevitable, even if you can’t put your finger on it, exactly. The album cover seems to be a pleasant, kaleidoscopic abstract—but, no, wait, you look a little closer and realize it’s eight women, might be members of the band, all but naked, lying there in a big, circular pattern, their feet toward the center, recreating something—I’d know what if I hadn’t skipped out of art history. They’re covered only by some religious sheet music (I believe), and they all have fluffy angel wings and crowns of daisies. Viewed with churchgoing bifocals, that cover might have gone over less well with the squares than even the music.

The band was put together by Marshall Chess—I guess this was his new label—so he assembled this group of misfit musical geniuses—“misfit” is a matter of opinion (I mean it in the best way), though genius (I vowed not to overuse that word, but whatever) can be heard. I’m familiar with none of them, save Chess, and Charles Stepney, also an arranger and producer, and, of course, Minnie Riperton, before her solo career. I guess some are session musicians, and some were in a band, but for this brief moment in time they’re together and up there with the most interesting thing going on, though not remotely commercial—too experimental! Some of these tracks should have been big hits of the day, though—maybe they were—I was seven years old and still trying to figure out my audio system. Between the most catchy songs, there are some oddities too weird even for me—quite out there. There’s this mini-tradition of rebelling against the two-sided platter by refusing to say A or B, so, fruity alternates instead (“This Side” / “That Side”) etc.—that just seems quaint after the CD era—but I get it. Here it’s: “Trip 1” and “Trip 1 (cont.)”—I like it. (Of course, there’s always still an A and B, or One and Two, if just for tax reasons.) If I ever put out a solo record, I’m gonna follow the tradition—my idea: “Chaos Theory” / “The World of the Chicken Pot Pie.” Or maybe, how ’bout… no. I’ll stop there.

The best way to approach the music is to pretend I just came home with it, knowing nothing, and simply put it on, not even looking at song credits or anything, just naturally going on “Trip 1” followed by “Trip 1 (cont.)”—how would it make me feel? (Besides like a rolling stone.) Best to just try it: Trip 1. Well, like I’m on that monorail to Disney Heaven, harps and all. Interlude, cello, whatnot. Some otherworldly, ethereal vocal sounds (must be Minnie Riperton) at a range only ghosts can hear. Nice pop song. Is that a sitar or are you just happy to see me? Distant waves on a shore. Yma Sumac style “Lady Jane” —best version of this song ever. “Like a Rolling Stone” on a Golden Hits easy listening record from another galaxy. (cont.) If you could imagine hearing “Soul Man” in The Shire, Middle-earth, this is it. “Didn’t Want to Have to Do It” sounds alarmingly straight in this context—it’s a beautiful soul number—should have been a late Sixties No. 1! Then, 23 seconds of Baptist church. Fantastic “instrumental” (voices, la la la la etc.) it’s a scene from the forgotten-universe feature-film where Frank Sinatra plays an aging hippie, complete with groovy rug. As far as I know, at the beer-themed church next door, they do pull off a holy version of “Ruby Tuesday” —but I haven’t heard it until here. Okay! Finally? Guys? You don’t do yourselves any favors by ending with a “song” that’s essentially the sound of a confused listener dropping the needle and quickly rejecting the results… on this album. No one’s gonna dig that, except maybe the most consummate stoner. It is pretty funny, though.

5.1.26