The Harrow & The Harvest

The Harrow & The Harvest by Gillian Welch

Album cover art by John Dyer Baizley

We’re Only In It For The Money

Envisioned by Frank Zappa and Cal Schenkel as a “direct negative” of the iconic Sgt. Pepper album art, objections raised by Capitol Records – as well as apparent apathy on the Beatles’ part –  delayed the release of The Mothers’ We’re Only In It For The Money by four months until Verve put out a bowdlerized version of the cover that Zappa despised. Ironically, the entire episode pretty much proved that Zappa’s distrust of Flower Power populism was justified.

Monster Movie

Although the great Damo Suzuki had yet to lend his unique vocal stylings to the Krautrock pioneers, Can’s 1969 debut still sounded at least a decade ahead of its time. Not only did the album’s aggressive art punk provide fertile ground for such acts as Wire, Public Image Ltd. and The Fall, but echoes of the band’s sound are still heard to this day in the indie rock underground.

For the purposes of this blog, however, how awesome is it to see Galactus – albeit in a less than convincing  disguise – brandish the Ultimate Nullifier smack dab on Monster Movie’s cover? Combined with Doctor Strange’s cameo on Pink Floyd’s Saucerful Of Secrets and other counterculture signposts I’m sure have escaped my attention, it’s easy to buy into Stan Lee’s typically over-the-top claim that late-60s Marvel comics were truly “pop art” sensations.

That’s a pretty great feather in the company’s cap. Too bad such accomplishments were eventually obscured by Marvel’s transformation into little more than a farm system for Disney to harvest merchandise and film franchises, but I guess that’s as good an indication of what became of the ‘60s counterculture as anything else …

Two Steps From The Blues

Two Steps From The Blues
Bobby “Blue” Bland
Duke/MCA (1960)

Is there a universe where this isn’t a cool LP jacket?

Bobby “Blue” Bland’s Two Steps From The Blues is deservedly considered a milestone in modern blues. A seamless merger of juke-joint blues with Southern r&b and gospel, this remarkable collection of singles paved the way for such future chart-toppers as Robert Cray.

Although I doubt Cray ever looked quite so stylish posing in front of early ‘60s future-retro architecture!

Undercurrent

The album cover to “Undercurrent,” a 1962 collection of piano/guitar duets by Bill Evans and Jim Hall. The photo of a woman floating in the water at Weeki Wachee Spring, Florida, was taken by Toni Frissel and originally published in the December, 1947 edition of Harpers Bazaar.

Although jazz labels have a well-deserved reputation for innovative album designs, “Undercurrent” still manages to stands apart from the pack. The image, which eerily evokes Millias’ “Ophelia” as well as Shelly Winters’ memorable death scene from “Night Of The Hunter,” adds a disturbing dimension to the contemplative ballads performed by Hall and Evans.

Classic imagery befitting equally classic music.

Scott 3

Speaking of eyeballs …

The cover to Scott Walker’s classic Scott 3 LP, released in 1969 by Philips/Fontana.

The image of the brooding artiste as seen through the heavily mascaraed eye of a female admirer pretty much summed up Walker’s status as a pop idol and his increasing attempts to distance himself from that particular persona.

(It’s no accident that Walker’s face is dwarfed by the shot of the rather monstrous, unblinking eye…)

The music itself reinforces Walker’s disconnect, as the album is dominated by beautifully orchestrated, self-penned paeans to broken romance and social alienation like “It’s Raining Today,” “Winter Night” and “Two Ragged Soldiers.”

As if to hammer the point home, the album concludes with three songs by the 20th Century’s undisputed king of pain, Jacques Brel … including the viciously morbid “Funeral Tango.”

Walker released another fine album of orchestral pop, the logically titled Scott 4, before spending much of the ’70s in the musical wilderness. He eventually re-emerged in the 1980s with the more progressive Climate Of Hunter. Walker has subsequently released an album or so every decade that redefines the meaning of “avant garde.”

Fans interested in hearing where David Bowie, Nick Cave and other brooding crooners gained inspiration should definitely seek out Walker’s first four LPs.  The mysterious recluse first glimpsed on the cover of “Scott 3,” however, is best heard on 1995′s Tilt and 2006′s The Drift.

Beware. They ain’t easy listening …

The Crimson King

This is the first in a series of occasional posts on album covers that are near and dear to my ancient, analog heart.

Over the span of nearly five decades, my voluminous music collection has gradually migrated from dusty, black vinyl to tin-plated CDs to intangible digital files. Although it’s been years since I’ve purchased an old-school LP, the format and its attendant packaging always summons warm memories.

I was – and remain – enough of a music nerd to get a special kick out of studying album covers while listening to music. I’d stare at the wonders conjured by such designers as Hipgnosis (Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin and many, many more), Roger Dean (Yes and many, many more), Cal Schenkel (Frank Zappa), Pedro Bell (Parliament-Funkadelic) and Neon Park (Little Feat).

Even photographic portraits – such as the famous head-shots of the Fab Four on With The Beatles and Diana Ross’ little-girl-lost pose on her solo debut – seemed to convey great meaning.

Combined with interior photographs, liner notes and, yes, the music itself, the classic LP package was a piece of pop art. While I enjoy the convenience of downloading and streaming music via the Internet, modern services like iTunes and Pandora can’t quite replicate the unique sensation of cracking open a vinyl LP for the very first time.

In tribute to that bygone era, here’s my favorite album cover of all time: the screaming gent who graces King Crimson’s classic 1969 debut, In The Court Of The Crimson King.

The image was painted by Barry Godber, a computer programmer who sadly died of a heart attack after the album was released. The famous cover was Godber’s only painting.

According to our friends at Wikipedia, the painting is currently in the possession of Robert Fripp himself.

All I knew is that when I first stumbled upon the album nearly 10 years after its release, the cover alone convinced me to give the “Crimson King” a try. The first song, “21st Century Schizoid Man,” pretty much delivered everything that Godber’s painting promised.

After that, there was no looking back.