McDonald and Giles “McDonald and Giles”

On my annual vacation in the “North Woods”—no one to talk to, so excuse my word count, here. As is the custom, I’m in a cabin with all modern conveniences but no internet access. I came across this odd album from 1970 in the small collection next to the hi-fi. One of those album covers that opens up, and its exterior, 24”x12” landscape shape is a single photo. Over it, it says, in purple block letters: “McDonald” on the left side, and the “and” crosses the spine, and then “Giles” on the right side. The picture is a washed-out, purple-tinged, photograph of four people in some kind of woods. Two “couples”—woman/man, man/woman. Is it sexist of me to immediately think the men are the McDonald and the Giles? Yes, it is. But then, I had initially clocked the songwriting and production credits on the record’s label—primarily “Ian McDonald” and “Michael Giles”—normally man names—and then the musician credits on the inside cover—same, along with Peter Giles. Pretty much that’s it, aside from Steve Winwood and Michael Blakesley appearing on one song each, with some string and horn arrangement credits. No mention of any women, not even the dames on the cover. The funny thing is, when I looked at front and back, before opening it up, I thought it was the same woman! Two separate photos! Which… I thought would be a funny bit—like the dudes are each secretly in love with the same woman—evidence on front and back cover! But no—opening it up, as you’re supposed to—not the same woman—though they have similar looks, longish blonde hair, eyeliner—they both could be models, in that movie, Blow-Up (1966). Now I notice something even funnier—the “McDonald” and the “Giles” (words) are placed directly over each of their penises! Naturally, they’re wearing pants, but is idea that the letters are covering their… enthusiasm… as well as tagging their identities? If so, this McDonald, young, long hair, looks exactly like your idea of a rock musician. The other guy, Giles, also long hair, also has a very suave mustache, and he’s so strikingly handsome, you’d guess he was an actor.

The record starts out sounding like any number of bands heavily influenced by The Beatles—for maybe two minutes—and then the drums come in, which don’t sound like any drums you ever hear in rock music. Maybe jazz—but I don’t know enough jazz to come up with a comparison. The drums then become a lead instrument, maybe the lead instrument for the rest of the album. Along with the bass, which is also very much on top of what are sometimes very sparse arrangements—though, also, sometimes very layered and complex. I feel like the bass player, Peter Giles, should have been named in the band name, but seeing how he’s also a Giles… redundant? But you’ve got to wonder if he wasn’t slighted at not appearing with a supermodel and his name over his crotch. Even his first name. The production is incredibly crisp, the opposite of muddy, you can make out everything. Sill, I’m not sure who is singing what, and I can’t (or won’t?) make out much of the lyrics. I’m mildly interested, but maybe it’s just as well. Is it wrong, sometimes, to just think of singing as another instrument—and ignore what the words say? Well, don’t tell the lyric writer! But that’s what I do sometimes, and am doing here—like listening to music with singing in a language you don’t understand.

Anyway, that first song, fantastic—it’s 11 minutes long—if it was the whole side I’d be happy. Called “Suite in C”—it includes several musical themes. Over the drums, bass, and guitar, there’s flute, then strings, then saxophone—it’s really a pretty crazy number, or suite, in all. Something about turnip greens—no, “Turnham Green”—which, if that doesn’t sound like a place in London, nothing does. The next song, called “Flight of the Ibis” is among the most beautiful romantic pop songs ever recorded—and I understand that puts it in a bigger pool than would fit on a double-decker bus—but still, it also has a uniqueness, mostly thanks to the drumming, that makes it its own thing. Why didn’t I hear this on the radio in 1970? Well, great year for pop songs, but had I heard it, I might have assigned it to another enduring grade school crush. “Is She Waiting?” doesn’t fare as well, due to juxtaposition (great songs on either side!) and I’m not sure what the answer is… but I think she is. The side ends with another long one, “Tomorrow’s People – The Children of Today”—another standout, more excellent everything, including silences, drum breaks, horn section, individual sax, flute, and also, tempo changes, and yes, whistfulness.

The drums don’t sound like any drums I’ve heard on a record, that I can think of, offhand. I know, I said that. I think Michael Giles also sings, and wrote some of the songs—what else does he play? From the album credits: milk bottle, handsaw, lip whistle, and nutbox. And Ian McDonald, besides guitar, keyboards, sax, flute, singing… also, clarinet, zither, and “sundries!” (bandaids, dental floss, and postage stamps?) And then, just the whole thing—it’s really very complex throughout—changes in tempo, dynamics, themes—horn arrangements, string arrangements—and no small amount of silence. Nutbox. It’s some record. Does the whole thing remind me of anything? That punk jazz band, Blurt, maybe a little bit, but not really. Wait… where’s my Blurt record? Gone. Tears in the rain. Maybe the Minutemen, a little (for you kids) not that you’d confuse them—but was this record an influence for those guys? Probably, along with a million other things. Add your own comparisons here:_____.

Side Two couldn’t possibly stand up to side one, could it? It’s okay if a band leaves it all on Side One and fills the rest like a neglected, scum-covered swimming pool—but not here! It’s only one song, 22 minutes—with “parts”—I’m really having trouble reading the tiny light green words over the huge orange painting (by Charlotte Bates) that takes up the entire inside cover, opened up. It was written with Peter Sinfield, who, as you know, is from King Crimson, poet, etc. But… Birdman? Flying? That’s what we’re trying to find out. It starts with some prog-pop, dancing puppet nonsense, which is fine, but then evolves into an extended jazz jam, mostly drums, bass, and some excellent saxophone—carries on awhile (you’d be happy with all day) and then slows in tempo—a big organ sound and chorus. Big change then, some insanely complex rhythms (I think… too complex for me to understand) an aside, another fadeout, and finally another theme arising deliberately from the silence like a troupe of mimes slowly approaching from down a twisty, English path, which eventually—though without words—could only be about something arising. Then the return to an earlier theme, but based in piano—quiet, not quite melancholy—I’d be more inclined to say resigned, while being determined, if that makes any sense. It then builds on repetitions to a majestic wall of conclusion. The boat has stumbled upon the island that’s going to rescue all of our lives, including past ones. It’s quite beautiful.

I headed out to the Crazy Mart, the closest convenience store that had a couple of tables and internet access—free to use as long as you buy a pricey undrinkable coffee from their robot barista and weren’t looking at porn. “I can tell you where the nearest McDonald’s is,” said the nosy clerk, after a short while, looking over at me—so I guess they did monitor you, somewhat. It turns out Ian McDonald passed away in 2022, but Giles is still around, perhaps still has hair and the mustache—I found some videos of him, looking like your favorite college professor. The crucial bit of information is that they were the founders of King Crimson, along with Peter Sinfield, Greg Lake, and Robert Fripp. I’m kind of embarrassed to say that that’s a band I know nothing about. When I was in high school, why did I go for Nektar and Triumvirat, but steer clear of King Crimson? I have no idea. I’m sure it wasn’t due to songs called “Dance of the Puppets.” I can only guess it was because I was frightened off by that album cover—their first record, the painting of the big, pink, horror-stricken face. I think I thought it was something else! What, I have no idea—like a place, or a book, or a concept. But it’s obviously 12-inch-square—what else would it be? One of my great misconceptions! If I could explain how my mind works/worked, maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here in the North Woods at the Crazy Mart looking at porn. Anyway, maybe that explains why this record sounds so alien to me—King Crimson is the missing link! Maybe it’s time to go back and… I don’t know. Didn’t someone say, you can’t return to Graffiti Bridge?

The other big WWW fueled shocker is that Ian McDonald was also one of the founders of the band Foreigner! Really? Hearing that is akin to you telling me Martin Scorsese directed Porky’s. Foreigner—that late seventies insidious purveyor of ear-worms, who I saw live on their first tour—I believe 1977—opening for the Doobie Brothers! Which means I saw Ian McDonald in person, same evening as my hero, Skunk Baxter! (Incidentally, that same year, I think, I also saw Greg Lake, live, in front of alotta people, playing with E & P.) Maybe it’s not so crazy… sure, I had that first Foreigner record, listened to it excessively… but later rejected it like a botched organ transplant. Sometimes things are worse in your memory than on paper, though, so I listen to it on YouTube—the first two songs (need I mention) and it’s worse than my memory—plus, I’m going to have “Cold as Ice” looping in my brain until I can replace it with something (an icepick)? I do take the opportunity to add to the 6000 comments below the video: “Shear perfection. Most underrated band of all time. I’m 69 years old and saw them on their first tour. They blew away the Doobie Bros (except for Skunk). I drank Riunite from my botabag, smoked bogus weed laced with angel dust, and on our way home from Bowling Green, the Ponitac threw a rod!” Pardon the nostalgia!

9.4.26