JEFFPENCZAKdivesinto yesterdayviathe emblematiccoverphoto thatembodiesthefoppish fineryof1967


VINYL ART


If hindsight is 20/20, then there’s no better prescription for rose-coloured glasses than that psychedelic music scavenger hunt, Rubble, which introduced me to many hidden treasures from The Golden Age Of British Psychedelia. Volume four, The 49 Minute Technicolour Dream, features a couple of singles from the Harrow quartet, Kaleidoscope, including their debut, ‘Flight From Ashiya’. Its downward-spiraling chorus of “nobody knows where we are” cements the tale of a pilot who’s “one minute high, the next minute low”. The single was ushered into the public’s eye with a bedazzling picture sleeve (Fontana’s first) and the tag line, “Humbly, we offer you the colours… and more”. “More” is exactly what I wanted to hear, and luckily, Fontana moved forward with an album, original copies of which regularly fetch £400. How much of that is attributable to the eye-watering cover is debatable, but I’ve read numerous dealers prattling on about how their copy is free from ring wear, scuff marks and other nasty accoutrements of age, so a pristine sleeve with its unusual flipback cover must surely account for a few pounds, suggesting that the album’s current value was at least partially attributable to its artwork.


A long time ago when the earth was green and there was nothing funny about peace, love, and understanding (let’s call it The Summer Of Love for argument’s sake), labels often commissioned elaborate artwork to compete for the attention of the surprisingly deep-pocketed subculture. Head-swirling poster art (like that designed by Family Dog artists Wes Wilson and Stanley Mouse to rope kids into San Francisco dance halls) inspired album covers. In 1967, Dutch artists The Fool designed the original, scrapped Sgt Pepper cover and sleeves for The Incredible String Band, The Move and The Hollies. The message was clear: an eye-catching cover could sometimes sell an album, regardless of its musical content. The age of the album cover as artwork was in full swing.


92


Like many contemporary sleeves by unknown artists, Tangerine Dream markets its contents through packaging. Although the photographer’s name is lost to the ravages of time, singer/lyricist Peter Daltry recalls that the “hippies-cooking-in-a-baking-foil-tent” photo was shot in a studio on Adam & Eve Mews in Kensington in August during the album’s recording sessions. But what are we to expect from the foppish, cherubic-faced lads bejewelled in oversized rings swiped from Louis XIV’s jewellery box and adorned in effulgent finery that looks ransacked from Marco Polo’s (or Brian Jones’) closet? Or the backdrop that looks like something Walt Disney threw up. And for a debut album, how are we to distinguish the band name from the album title – is it the latest from those West Coast avant folkies or is it some new band named after a lyric from The Beatles’ then-current magnum opus, the aforementioned Pepper? Sure, the album opens with ‘Kaleidoscope’, but how many bands named themselves after their songs? The band could easily be called Tangerine Dream, a name that caught the imagination of a bunch of German musicians forming around the same time.


#14 KALEIDOSCOPE


TANGERINEDREAM Fontana Records UK, 1967


Artwork/photographer unknown


This aura of uncertainty solidifies its place in the canon of iconic album covers. The fluid, light show lettering (perhaps inspired by Rubber Soul) and Portobello Road outfits and jewellery only hint at the musical styles lurking within. Closer examination reveals that the swirling, kaleidoscopic backdrop perfectly suits the effervescent, toytown pop, whimsical, Edwardian imagery, and flowery, Bee Gees and Donovan inspired melodies that float along like a magic carpet ride on “puffs of white cotton”. The lads beckon us to revel in their childlike innocence of dress- up games with mum and dad’s jewellery, while Daltrey’s lyrics and hushed, carefully enunciated vocals spin fairy tales of Aladdin’s cave, watch-repairer men, stoned pilots, murder, kings and queens, and magical sky children yearning to remain forever young. His esoteric, autobiographical liner notes-cum-track annotations read like a psychedelic Aesop’s Fairy Tales and Arabian Knights, and his encouragement to “listen to the pictures” blurs the boundaries between sight and sound, emphasizing the de rigueur practice of listening cross-legged on the floor while staring at that luxurious album cover.


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