The Pretty Things – Private Sorrow (French TELEVISION 1968) HQ

    Beat group obtains arty, Psychedelic, theatrical refer to it as what you will, yet it’s the era of experimentation and The Pretty Things were most certainly branching off. Who is that in mime? It’s Twink, The Pretty Things drummer, key-board player Jon Povey is playing drums. This little fantasy originates from the groundbreaking album SF Sorrow and with Twink in this setting it’s appears rather suitable being broadcast on French TV (you know Marcel Marceau and all that).

    I met Twink once, he came backstage in LA with Ricky from Brian Jonestown Massacre and presented himself, “Hello, I’m Twink” – lovely guy. One questions what world he got on right here yet it appears like a satisfied place, a thoughtful area, a vibrant area although the clip is in black and white. At this point Dick Taylor is still there, as is bassist Wally Allen and naturally the weird Phil May.

    The SF Sorrow album is essential to any kind of record collection and unusually it’s a concept album that whilst necessarily ought to be ingested entire, each song is worthy of individual attention. Private Sorrow is the 4th track on side 1 and also may be re-examined in the context of the record, yet stands solid by itself, both here on TV along with with the individual experience of herbs, tea and also large old fashioned armchairs in raggedy Victorian rooms overwhelm with the eager and also daring new generation of the day for whom at the nerve centre of any kind of taking place home worth its salt (or sugarcube) – is the stereo.

    One needs to state the manufacturer – Norman Smith is rather unacceptably unhonored in music background, his tale survives with those that recognize his job yet he ought to be advertised, knighted, made a fight it out- anything. He ought to be recognized as one of the greats of the period. One presumes that it was just that every person remained in the darkness of The Beatles yet what The Pretty Things were doing was a combination that integrated The Beatles, The Pink Floyd and also pre-empted The Who’s Tommy. (Smith was designer on all The Beatles cds as much as Rubber Soul). He created, Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, A Saucerful Of Secrets and also Ummagumma. He created Once Again for Barclay James Harvest and also also had 2 solo hits in the seventies, Don’t Let It Die and also Oh Babe What Would You Say. He passed away at the age of 85 in 2008 – he was 45 years of ages when he created SF Sorrow.

    The Pretty Things’ SF Sorrow is part of Norman Smith’s legacy yet the band in some way slid with the fractures in the wake of their contemporaries, Floyd, The Who and The Beatles history taking over the world. But SF Sorrow is still there, wasting away in the shelfs, a complete treasure waiting on that new generation of retro vinyl purchasers to overcome Dark Side Of The Moon, Led Zep 4 and Sgt. Pepper’s and dig a little much deeper.

    Heaven’s rain falls upon
    Faces of the children who look skyward
    Twisting metal through the air
    Scars and screams so you might know his fury

    Sea shells whistle
    Let your mind drift away
    Sea shells whistle
    Let yourself hide away

    Men walking tall, looking so small
    Green trees of life disappearing
    Mouthing the sounds, face clowning the frowns
    Black the lips of command

    Torn in the heart, you’re playing the part
    Courage, it is so demanding
    Loud brass in bands, marching through lands
    Life snatching hand is near

    Heaven’s army falls upon
    The skirts of Mother Earth and then flies skywards
    Twisting wings through the air
    Lift the souls so you might know his fury

    Sea shells whistle
    Let your mind drift away
    Sea shells whistle
    Let yourself hide away

    Dressed in white silk of rain, you marry the pain
    As you kneel in a church of bright steel
    A new morning arrives, you share the same skies
    Umbrella ring a land full of peace

    As the memory fades on the edge of a blade
    You’ll return you ‘re sure that you will
    From the frame in your hand, a smile expands
    Hangs from a thread of glass tears

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