THE DEFINITIVE HISTORY OF THE WORLD`S FAVOURITE `LOST` BAND FROM THE SIXTIES
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1/ We find in your songs a certain innocence with childhood nostalgia. " The Sky Children " is still one of the most amazing ( enchanteur à la base, j'sais pas comment le traduire )
song of English rock, while listening to this song, we think about adolescent dreams ... So here we are, what were your secrets to make such beautiful songs ?
**The band were on holiday together in summer 1964. We were staying at Swanage, a traditional seaside holiday town in Dorset on the south coast of England.
Just outside the town was a small Victorian castle perched high on a rocky bluff over-looking the sea.
Late one morning we decided to walk up to the castle. It was a fine summer`s day with an almost clear blue sky, with just a few light clouds high above, moving
slowly in a light breeze. We searched around the castle for awhile -- and then found a steep path leading down to the sea. We decided to climb down. At the bottom
we found ourselves on a rocky shore, huge boulders having tumbled down from the cliffs probably hundreds of years ago. The sea was crashing on the shore, the waves
breaking against the rocks, the spray rising, causing rainbows to form in the sunlight. The noise was deafening, but wonderful. Nature in the raw. Looking ahead we
could see Swanage in the distance, two or three miles away, shimmering in the heat haze. We decided to return to the town along the beach. It wasn`t easy as some of
the boulders were as big as cars. But we carefully picked our way over them and through them. Gradually it became easier to walk as the boulders gave way to smaller rocks.
It was now midday and the sun was burning down. To our right the ocean roared on.
The four of us became separated and I found myself at the back of the group.
For some unknown reason a line came to me: A million white flowers in a field in the sky... Ed and I always wrote using the same formula. I wrote the words, he wrote the music.
Writing a song is often no more than simply grabbing inspiration out of the air and turning it into a lyric. And inspiration, by definition, can`t be produced on demand.
That ain`t how it works. Inspiration`s favourite trick is to insinuate itself into your thoughts just as you are about to fall asleep in bed. A word or a line or two will
form in your mind, drifting in and out of your consciousness as you are about to take that wonderful step into sleep. But, aware of these lines, you know that if ignored
they will simply disappear; in the morning they will be gone. So you struggle back from Nodland, scrabble around for a pen and paper, scratch the words out -- and crash back to bed.
Sun up, bleary eyes, full bladder, sandpaper mouth, roaring tinnitus, you squint at the words; usually crap, sometimes inspired.
In this case I was walking along a beach without pen and paper. Another line came to me -- and another. Now I was in real trouble! I had two options: refuse to allow
my mind to conjure up new lines, knowing how difficult it would be to remember them -- or grab the horn by the bull and accept the lines as they emerged from my spongy
grey matter and attempt to remember them. After all, most songs comprise of only a verse or three and a chorus. How difficult would that be, for goodness sake?
Little did I know at that point that I was in the process of writing one of the longest songs we would ever record.
I stumbled on over the rocks, glancing to my right at the shifting watery rainbows as they hung in the shimmering phosphorous spray of the crashing waves.
There were beautiful shells on the beach and dark slippery seaweed, glinting in the sun. More lines. I strung them together. Rhymes formed. A story began to emerge.
More damn lines. I had to keep going back to the start -- assembling the verse in my head, trying desperately to remember the lines in the correct order each time.
Dan was just ahead of me. He stopped and called back, "You OK, Pete...?" I told him I was writing a song. He nodded, wisely deciding to leave me to it.
Now so many lines and I was losing the battle, the verses melting into each-other, the lines changing each time I put them together in my head. Damn. It was hot.
I was sweating. I shook my head, trying to jumble the lines back into some cohesive order.
When we eventually arrived back in the town I raced ahead to the campsite, grabbed a pen and began frantically scribbling down what I could recall of the lines.
Once back home in London the lyric was polished and honed into its final draft. Ed came up with a simple repetitive melody that perfectly captured the mood of the song:
the fairytale story of a group of children on a magical quest.
It is easy for today`s listeners to scoff at such lyrics. Yes, with our modern, sophisticated -- some would say jaded -- ears it all sounds, well, rather silly.
But they are listening out of context. Take yourself back to 1967. I was influenced by Donovan on songs such as this. His beautiful album, `Fairytale` was high on my list of
favourites with its stories and tales that would not have looked out of place in a child`s book. People say I was heavily influenced by Tolkien. In fact, in my literary ignorance,
I had never heard of Tolkien. But I absorbed everything I heard around me, the clothes we wore, the mood of gentleness that permeated our lives back then -- so long ago.
I don`t recall the recording session for `The Sky Children.` But I suspect it was recorded late at night in Philips` Marble Arch studio, probably with the lights out, just a
candle or two burning on a speaker case. Truly magical times.
2/ " Faintly Blowing " seemed to be more diversified, putting some folk rock touches here and there but also plunged us into violent themes and ... calm ones.
What have been your approach during the production of this gem of acid rock ?
**Ed and I never stopped writing songs. We always had more songs available than we could record. Some bands are contracted to make an album and they go in to the studio
and start writing there. We always had a stock of songs ready before we ever went into the studio. We knew exactly which songs we would record, having already played them
to our producer, Dick Leahy, and received his enthusiastic approval.
The songs that appeared on `Tangerine Dream` were mostly written in '65 and `66. Although we had, at that time, already been writing for two or three years, we were still novices.
We were learning our craft. By '67 and '68 we were more confident as writers and knew that we had an outlet for our work as we had a recording contract and a record company that
were convinced we were the next Beatles. (This is not an exaggeration; we were told this by Philips executives.)
The psychedelic period was very short-lived: a multi-coloured rocket that shot into the sky in '66 dazzling us all with its brilliance, slowly falling to earth in `68, its dying
embers glowing only until the end of that year. We were swept along in its starry wake. For the type of music that we were writing and recording we were certainly in the right
place at the right time. London was vibrating with possibilities. We were young, naively confident of our own abilities, unstoppable.
As we entered 1968 Ed and I were writing in a more mature way, hence songs such as `Black Fjord`, `(Love Song)For Annie` and `If you so wish`. But we still adopted a psychedelic
stance -- true to our roots -- on songs such as `Faintly Blowing` and `The Feathered Tiger`. (We attempted to record `I remember Sunny-Side Circus` at this time,
but were unhappy with the results; and the song wouldn`t appear until `From Home to Home` -- slightly out of place on that later album.)
With a healthy budget our sound was augmented by a full orchestra which certainly enhances the more mature approach employed in the sessions. I no longer listen to our records --
indeed, I listen to very little music as my legacy from the band is deafness and tinnitus -- but of our two early albums, it is `Faintly Blowing` that appears to wear the musical
crown.
A brief mention of the session in which we recorded `Music`. My memory is shot full of holes so very little in the way of detail remains. But I do recall that we all made a
concerted effort to make the track as way-out as possible. We were urged on by our producer who was keen to establish a name for himself. Once the basic backing track was
recorded we added a lead vocal. We then set about embellishing the ending with various `found` sounds, such as coins spinning on top of speaker cabinets, radio broadcasts and
doors slamming. The following week we were called into the studio to hear a first mix of the album. We were slightly alarmed to find that Dick Leahy had smothered `Music`
in phasing rather than keeping the effect just for the ending. But we were persuaded that it was the correct mix for the track and, still young and over-awed by the attentions
of our multi-national record company, decided to zip up our objections.
Today I get regular e-mails from fans, young and old, singing the praises of `Music`. I guess it is a matter of taste.
3/ Kaleidoscope made a single entitled " Isle of Wight Festival Theme " in 1970, under the name of I Luv Wight, you played live in Friday, august 28th, under Fairfield Parlour
and it seemed that you have been informed of an anonymous letter which said that the first band who played will be shot. Do you remember some details about this ?
**In May and June of 1970 our manager had extensive talks with the Foulk brothers, the festival organisers. He pulled off an amazing coup.
Not only did he secure the band a place on the bill at the upcoming Isle of Wight Festival on the Friday, but talked the two wily brothers into agreeing that we should
write and record a song that would be released as a single under the banner: The Official Isle of Wight Festival Song 1970. They further agreed that the song would be
played between every act. This massive publicity during the weekend festival, together with the expected heavy radio airplay, would at last secure the band its long overdue first hit.
Legal representatives drew up a contract which was duly signed by both parties.
In June Ed and I wrote the song: `Let the world wash in.`
On the Thursday we were all sat in the salubrious TV lounge at the Shanklin Clarendon Hotel: a side room with over-stuffed sofas that had been fashionable between the wars,
a shredded bile-green carpet and a black and white television balanced on a stylish Fablon-coated table. We were on the hard stuff: big chipped mugs of creosote-coloured tea.
Dave suggested we watch the news to see if the festival got a mention. Second item: "The IRA announced today that in protest at the continued presence of British troops in
Belfast they will shoot the first group to appear at the Isle of Wight Festival tomorrow."
"Who is the first group on stage tomorrow, Dave?"
"You are."
On the Friday we hung around waiting to go on. All nervous. This was a major gig for us. Eventually we found ourselves on stage in front of a quarter million people.
Dan thumped a drum. Steve pumped a bass string tentatively. Ed retuned. I approached the microphone, my heart pounding. The familiar opening chords of `Eyewitness` --
I opened my bone dry mouth:"We know you have seen a lot of things..." Appropriate. The sound is surprisingly quiet. We had expected to be deafened by the walls of speakers.
They`ve only turned the volume knob to 5. Bastards. And now `Aries` that nostalgic hymn of youth -- but the sound is evaporating in the open air, swept away gently on a balmy
breeze. The sound is going to the hill! You can almost see it misting into the green-blue distance. And now an audible wave: applause. Warm, welcoming applause and encouraging
calls. But wait... The IRA. If they shoot anyone it`s going to be the singer, center-stage, arms outstretched in his white Jesus-suit. A perfect target. For a frozen moment
I thought about looking for the rifle, but brought myself back to the now instantly. Now was not the time to think about my death; I could do that at leisure later in a pool of
blood behind the stage, my life melting into the trampled grass like crimson snow, my breath forming a last word, "Bastards..."
After an all-too-brief set we left the stage, relieved to still be alive. It had turned out to be an empty threat, made simply to garner publicity for their blinkered cause.



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