Archive for the ‘1972’ Category

Saturday Single No. 696

Saturday, July 11th, 2020

Okay, so how many tracks among the 80,000 on the digital shelves were recorded on July 11?

This, of course, is the kind of thing I resort to on days when my stock of ideas to write about is running low. Sometimes it results in something that limps, sometimes it works. (And it’s worth remembering that I have recording dates for maybe ten percent of the mp3s in my collection.)

Anyway, the answer is ten, and those tracks are:

“Put It There (Shag Nasty)” by McKinney’s Cottonpickers, 1928
“Pete Brown’s Boogie” by the Pete Brown Quintet, 1944
“Fat Stuff Boogie” by the Beale Street Gang, 1948
“Me & My Chauffeur Blues” by Memphis Minnie, 1952
“You Win Again” by Hank Williams, 1952
“I Forgot To Remember To Forget” by Elvis Presley, 1955
“Mystery Train” by Elvis Presley, 1955
“Trying To Get To You” by Elvis Presley, 1955
“(You’re A) Bad Girl” by Paul Revere & The Raiders, 1966
“Samantha’s Living Room” by the Guess Who, 1972

Four of those – the first two by Presley and the singles by Memphis Minnie and Hank Williams – are pretty well known. The others? Well, the Cottonpickers’ record is 1920s jazz on the Victor label, and the two from the 1940s are – as their titles indicate – piano-led boogies (with lots of horns) on Savoy. “Trying To Get To You” showed up on Presley’s 1956 self-titled album. “(You’re A) Bad Girl” came out of the sessions for The Spirit Of ’67 but was unreleased until the CD era. And the Guess Who track was on the 1973 album Artificial Paradise.

And of those, the one that catches my ears this morning is “Samantha’s Living Room.” An odd, atmospheric track, it showed up here on a two-CD anthology of the Guess Who’s work, and its lyrics intrigue me:

The family’s in the front room cheering
Old Dad’s in the corner snoring
Mother’s helping baby walk
And Auntie Jean is yawning
In Samantha’s living room

Granddad’s at the punchbowl drinking cordial
While Grandma sees the children play
Blindman’s bluff and chess, and the music plays
All in all it’s time for fun
In Samantha’s living room
In Samantha’s living room, in the year 1921

In Samantha’s living room
In Samantha’s living room
In Samantha’s living room, in the year 1981

So, because it intrigues me, and because I have the sense that I’ve not often mentioned the group here, “Samantha’s Living Room” by the Guess Who is today’s Saturday Single.

‘Happy’

Wednesday, July 1st, 2020

The madness out there, it seems, increases every minute. I could list all the things in just the past few days that have enraged me, made me shake my head or made me drop my jaw, but what’s the point? In another ten minutes, or so it seems, another outrage or example of idiocy will come along.

And I haven’t been sleeping well the past few weeks, which leaves my tolerance for all that stuff low. I need something happy.

So here’s one of the few Rolling Stones’ tracks on which Keith Richard sang the lead vocal: “Happy” from 1972. I recall hearing it on the radio a bit that summer (it went to No. 22 in the Billboard Hot 100), so by the time I got my copy of Exile On Main St. a year later, I was already accustomed to the pinched, thin vocal.

Instrumentally, it fits right into the raw and mostly weary aesthetic of Exile, which I think I’ve marked here before as one of the contenders for best rock album of all time (a judgment I came to only in the 1990s after years of listening).

And that’ll have to do it for today.

What’s At No. 100? (June 1972)

Wednesday, June 10th, 2020

It’s been a while since we looked a chart from 1972, so let’s pull up the Billboard Top Ten from June 10 of that year – exactly forty-eight years ago today – and then head to the bottom slot in that week’s Hot 100.

Here’s the Top Ten:

“The Candy Man” by Sammy Davis, Jr.
“I’ll Take You There” by the Staple Singers
“Oh Girl” by the Chi-Lites
“Song Sung Blue” by Neil Diamond
“Sylvia’s Mother” by Dr. Hook & The Medicine Show
“Nice To Be With You” by Gallery
“The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” by Roberta Flack
“Morning Has Broken” by Cat Stevens
“Outta-Space/I Wrote A Simple Song” by Billy Preston
“(Last Night) I Didn’t Get To Sleep At All” by the 5th Dimension

Well. That’s not a very inspiring set of eleven singles. The only one of those that grips me very hard at all these days is “I’ll Take You There.” The Chi-Lites’ single was a favorite back then, and I still like the singles by Neil Diamond, Gallery and Roberta Flack (although that last wore its welcome out in 1972 and is still on some form of repetition probation).

None of the others matter one way or the other except for “The Candy Man,” which approaches “Seasons In The Sun” territory on the “The First Time Ever I Heard The Record I Hated It” scale. I turned nineteen that year, and the presence at No. 1 of the “The Candy Man” in the spring and then Chuck Berry’s “My Ding-A-Ling” in the autumn taught me at that early age to be skeptical of the tastes of the masses.

So how many of those records matter to me today? Normally, we’d take a look here at the contents of my iPod. But since I got a new computer and had to reload things, the iPod is being balky, so we’ll look at the iTunes library and its 2,800-or so tracks, which remains a work in progress. How many of those eleven singles are in my day-to-day listening?

Right now, four: The records by Gallery, Robert Flack, Cat Stevens and the Billy Preston A-side are there. Likely joining them as the library is re-seeded will be the Staple Singers, the Chi-Lites and Neil Diamond. The 5th Dimension? Maybe.

Now, on to our supposed main business here: The record at No. 100 forty-eight years ago today. And we come across one of Petula Clark’s last records to make the Hot 100, her cover of Mary Wells’ No. 1 hit from 1964, “My Guy.” Clark’s cover went to No. 70 in the Hot 100 and to No. 12 in the Billboard Easy Listening chart.

Clark would have two more records in the Hot 100: Her cover of Noel Paul Stookey’s “Wedding Song (There Is Love)” would go to No. 61 in the autumn of 1972, and “Natural Love” would get to No. 66 in 1982. Both of those would hit the Easy Listening chart (at Nos. 9 and 24, respectively), and “Natural Love” would be Clark’s only entry on the country chart, going to No. 20.

Here’s her take on “My Guy.”

George Is Gone

Wednesday, June 3rd, 2020

During my last year in Minot – the 1988-89 academic year – and for a few years after I’d left North Dakota, my buddy George was a constant in my life.

We’d met at a faculty workshop during the summer of 1989, and in a few weeks, we were having dinner once a week, set on finding ourselves a favorite restaurant in Minot, a task simplified by the limited offerings of the city of about 35,000. Soon enough, we were joined in our quest by Helen, one of George’s colleagues from the College of Education.

We never did find a favorite, but we had some decent meals and some good conversations. The three of us were all cat people – Helen and I of long-standing and George of recent vintage – and we took turns taking care of each other’s cats during absences from Minot during quarter and holiday breaks.

And George and I settled into a routine of having late-evening coffee either at his house or mine, talking about serious life issues or about frivolous nothings as we watched the evening news and then re-runs of Cheers.

During the summer of 1989, he and his brother Ed visited me in Minnesota, and the three of us –joined by my ladyfriend of the time – saw Bob Dylan in concert in downtown St. Paul. Then, after my ladyfriend had headed home, George and Ed and I talked over coffee until early morning in my apartment in the suburban town of Anoka.

I wandered off to Kansas and Missouri and then back to Minnesota, but phone conversations with George were a constant, and by the time I got back to Minnesota in the late summer of 1991, George was there, too, teaching at a private college in St. Paul. We had the occasional dinner but George was more occupied with his teaching and with his new lady, who was still in North Dakota but who was working to get to Minnesota. I understood, I’d been there.

And, as friends sometimes do, we began to drift apart. Some of that was George’s new commitment. He and his lady married and began to raise a late-in-life family, something he thought he’d never have the chance to do. Some of that drift – maybe most – was mine, as I spent the mid-1990s in a devastating depression, barely able to do more than go to work, go to the record store and go home and listen to music.

The last time I saw George was at the Minnesota State Fair sometime around 1995, when we took in a blues festival featuring B.B. King and Etta James. I knew he and his family were headed to California and teaching gigs at Cal-Berkeley, but I wasn’t sure when. And when I came out of my depression around 2001, George and his family were living in Oakland and I wasn’t in their lives.

I got in touch with him, and emails went back and forth for a brief time, but – just like in Harry Chapin’s “Taxi” – whatever we’d had once was gone. My fault? Maybe. George’s fault? Perhaps.

Just the way life sometimes is? Most likely.

I found him on Facebook a couple of years ago and left a message. I got no answer, which is what I expected. And he crossed my mind again this past weekend, so I searched again, and saw a listing for him in a small town in Maine. I searched further and found his obituary. He died about a year ago.

I know. We come into each other’s lives and leave each other’s lives for reasons, those reasons rarely discernible. George had been gone from my life for more than twenty years and I regret that, although I’m not sure I could have done anything to change it. I guess that at times I hoped I could reconnect with him and if things needed repairing, repair them. That chance, if it ever existed, is gone.

But I remember our late-night coffees, our late-night phone calls between Missouri and North Dakota, our bafflement at the odd behaviors of his two cats, Ginseng and Cinnamon, our love of football and good food and music, and all the things that go into a friendship, however brief it turned out to be.

Here’s a tune we tried to play together once. It didn’t work well, as he was using the words to the Byrds’s version, and I was singing the words Bob Dylan recorded with Artie Traum. (Dylan and Traum, we weren’t.) Here’s their 1971 recording of “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere,” released in 1972 on Dylan’s second greatest hits collection.

Staying At Home

Thursday, April 9th, 2020

As events came down this late winter and early spring, and the prospect of having to stay home almost all of the time became more and more real, I thought “Big deal. I’ve been staying home pretty much all of the time since the summer of 1999.”

And that’s true. Since I left the workforce late that summer, most of my days have been spent at the computer in three different apartments, one house and now, one condo. And I came to like that, which was a change for me. Still, if I needed to or wanted to, I could go out without having to weigh heavy questions of health and wellness (there was some of that, as I learned how to deal with the malady that had rerouted my life) or equally heavy questions of public obligation.

But the heaviness of those questions – along with the burden of the mostly doleful news from around the nation and around the world – make this stay-at-home time much different. And it’s affecting me: I’m not sleeping well, waking up each morning at about six a.m. no matter how late I might have gotten to bed the night before. My chronic depression seems to have adjusted its default setting – the level attained if I take my medication regularly – to a slightly more unhappy level than had been the case two months ago. I’m a little fidgety. And I’m definitely more short-tempered than usual.

I’m finding things to fill my hours: Sorting and tagging the stock of mp3s I’ve stuck in folders and set aside over the past twenty years; doing the groundwork for and beginning a new season – the twenty-fifth – for my eighteen-team tabletop baseball league; pondering new music for the keyboard (something I need to move from simply pondering to actually playing); binge-watching television with the Texas Gal (we loved both Interrogation and One Dollar, offered by CBS All Access); and more things that don’t come to mind at the moment.

I’m not complaining. I’m just observing that sheltering in place – staying home and having to plan carefully to limit excursions to the essential – is harder than I expected. But if this is what I have to do to play my part in the societal attempt to limit the impact of the corona virus and COVID-19, so be it. My parents’ generation had to deal with far worse, what with the Depression and World War II. I can handle today’s burdens for the duration.

And here’s a tune that came to mind this morning: It’s “(Staying Home and Singing) Homemade Songs” by Tracy Nelson and Mother Earth. It’s from the 1972 album Tracy Nelson/Mother Earth.

A Random Six-Pack

Tuesday, March 31st, 2020

There are currently 79,000-plus tracks in the RealPlayer, most of them music. (I have about thirty familiar lines from movies in the stacks and some bits of interviews, too.) And today, we’re going to take a six-stop random tour through the stacks. We’ll sort the tracks by length; the shortest is 1.4 seconds of broadcaster Al Shaver exulting over a goal by the long-departed Minnesota North Stars – “He shoots, he scores!” – and the longest is the full album with bonus tracks of Bruce Springsteen’s 2006 release, We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, clocking in at an hour and eighteen minutes.

We’re going to put the cursor in the middle of the stack and click six times and see what we get.

We land first on a track by Joe Grushecky & The Houserockers: “Memphis Queen” from the group’s 1989 album Rock & Real. At All Music, William Ruhlman notes, “Grushecky’s songs of tough urban life are made all the more compelling by his rough voice and the aggressive playing of his band.” The track in question, “Memphis Queen,” tells the tale of a Pittsburgh boy headed to New Orleans on the titular riverboat, stopping in St. Louis to search for the “brown-eyed handsome man” and meeting a girl named Little Marie, whose daddy is “down in the penitentiary.” I found the album at a blog somewhere when I was going through a Grushecky phase a few years ago. It’s a good way to start.

We jump from 1989 back to 1972 and a track from Mylon Lefevre. “He’s Not Just A Soldier” comes from Lefevre’s Over The Influence album. Originally recorded in 1961 by Little Richard, who wrote the song with William Pitt, the song reads on Lefevre’s album as an artifact from the Vietnam era, declaring that a young man in military service “is not just a soldier in a brown uniform, he’s one of God’s sons.” And there’s a surprise along the way, as Lefevre is joined on vocals by Little Richard himself. There’s also a great saxophone solo, but I don’t know by whom. (I saw a note on Wikipedia that said the album was a live performance, but I doubt that’s the case.)

Next up is a cover of a piece of movie music: “Lolita Ya-Ya” by the Ventures. The tune originated in Stanley Kubrick’s 1962 film adaptation of the Vladimir Nabokov novel Lolita. Penned by Nelson Riddle, the song is source music from a radio the first time that the movie’s protagonist, Humbert Humbert, sees the title character who will become his obsession. Sue Lyon, the actress who played Lolita, provided the vocals for the film version of the tune. The Ventures’ cover of the tune was released as a single, but got only to No. 61 on the Billboard Hot 100.

From there, we head to 1968 and Al Wilson’s first album, Searching For The Dolphins, recorded for Johnny Rivers’ Soul City Label. “I Stand Accused” was the fourth single from the album aimed at the Hot 100; the most successful of the four was “The Snake,” which went to No. 27. “I Stand Accused,” a good soul workout, bubbled under at No. 106. As usual with Rivers’ productions, the backing musicians were spectacular: Hal Blaine, Jim Gordon, Larry Knechtel, Joe Osborne, Jim Horn and James Burton. (A 2008 reissue of the album provided as bonus tracks eleven singles and B-sides recorded around the same time for the Soul City, Bell and Carousel labels.)

Lou Christie’s fame (and his appeal), as I see it, rests on five singles: “The Gypsy Cried” (1963), “Two Faces Have I” (1963), “Lightning Strikes” (1965), “Rhapsody In The Rain” (1966), and “I’m Gonna Make You Mine” (1970). He shows up here today with “Wood Child,” a track from his 1971 album Paint America Love, released under his (almost) real name, Lou Christie Sacco. (He was born Lugee Alfredo Giovanni Sacco, according to discogs.com.) I’m not sure what the song is about, except that its lyrics are evocative and include the recurring choruses, “You’ve got to save the wood child” and “Take a ticket and get on this boat.”

(A 2015 appreciation of the album by Bob Stanley for The Guardian said: “Yet another side of Christie emerged in 1971 when he cut his masterpiece, Paint America Love, a Polish/Italian/American take on What’s Going On. Orchestrated state-of-the-nation pieces (‘Look Out the Window,’ the extraordinary ‘Wood Child’) compete with majestic instrumentals (‘Campus Rest’) and childhood reminiscences (‘Chuckie Wagon,’ the Sesame Street-soundtracking ‘Paper Song’) in a gently lysergic whole. Online reviews compare it to Richard Ford and John Steinbeck: fans of Jimmy Webb are urged to seek it out.”)

I’m not sure where I got the album, probably a long-lost blog, but I suppose I should take Stanley’s advice and listen to it more closely.

And our six-pack this morning ends with “Long Line” from Peter Wolf, one-time member of the J. Geils Band. The title track from his 1996 album, the tune shifts from straight-ahead tasteful rock to a spoken interlude and back. It sounds a lot more like 1972 than 1996, with some nifty piano fills, which makes it a nice way to end our trek.

Saturday Single No. 681

Saturday, March 14th, 2020

Intrigued by the results the other day of digging into a 1972 survey from a radio station formatting itself as “progressive,” I thought we’d do it again this morning. The first time, we were in Portland, Oregon, so I thought we’d head to the East Coast for our second time around.

Here are the six albums that WMMR in Philadelphia listed in its survey for the second week in March 1972:

Together by Jesse Colin Young
Sailin’ Shoes by Little Feat
Isle Of View by Jimmie Spheeris
Fanny Hill by Fanny
Hellbound Train by Savoy Brown
Compost self-titled

Only two of those ever showed up on the vinyl stacks here, the Spheeris and the Little Feat. I had seven LPs on the shelves by Jesse Colin Young, but Together was not one of them, so I’m surprised by that absence, as I am by the absence of Fanny Hill. The absence of the Savoy Brown album does not startle me at all. And Compost?

Well, I can’t say I’ve never heard of the band, but I didn’t recall the name. It turns out that Compost was also one of those groups promoted by Columbia on The Music People, just like Wayne Cochran and the C.C. Riders from Tuesday’s post. I checked the LP log, and I brought The Music People home with me in 1992, twenty years after it came out, so I first heard of Compost long after the group’s performing days.

And those days were relatively short: Wikipedia tells us that Compost released two albums, the 1972 self-titled release listed by WMMR (which has the alternate title of Take Off Your Body), and a 1973 release titled Life Is Round. The band is described at both Wikipedia and discogs.com as a jazz fusion group; its members were Bob Moses, Harold Vick, Jumma Santos, Jack Gregg and Jack DeJohnette. And we’ll get back to the group later.

First, though, how many of those albums ended up on the digital shelves here? Well, the albums by Little Feat, Spheeris, Fanny, and Young are here. Hellbound Train is not, although I do have Savoy Brown’s 1971 release, Street Corner Talking. Compost is represented only by the one track from its 1972 album that was featured on The Music People, “Country Song.”

So here’s “Country Song” by Compost, today’s Saturday Single.

Stocking Up & Staying Home

Friday, March 13th, 2020

As more and more institutions have closed and events have been canceled over the past couple days because of the coronavirus, we’ve taken some precautions here. We spent a couple hours at one of the bigger box stores yesterday getting some things that we honestly should have had before – an electric lantern to light at least one room in the case of power failure, along with several flashlights and a good supply of batteries – and stocking up on canned goods, pasta and dried beans (as well as some meat for the freezer and a few other things).

As has been reported in many other places, toilet paper was gone from the shelves, but our need for that – and for other paper products – was filled a little earlier in the week. And the store was crowded but at base sane. There were, however, some grocery items that were obviously in short supply. There were no corn tortillas (unless I was looking in the wrong place), and the supply of some types of dried beans was limited, just to note two.

There were a few things at the big store that we could not find, so on our way home, we stopped at our neighborhood market and picked those up. And then headed home.

So far (as of last evening), there are nine cases of COVID-19 in Minnesota, one here in Stearns County. I’m betting, though, that there are far more people infected with the virus, so we’re going to be prudent and pretty much self-quarantine from now on. There are a few things that need to be done, like dropping by the nearby hardware store for a new supply of furnace filters. And I need to refill a few prescriptions.

In addition, I am committed to playing piano at our fellowship Sunday. We’re a small congregation, averaging thirty-five or so people each week, but the greater majority of us are past sixty, and I’m not sure how wise it is for us to keep gathering each week. The fellowship leadership is, I know, weighing factors, but the Texas Gal and I are thinking that after this Sunday, we may withdraw ourselves from activities for the last six weeks of the fellowship year.

Beyond that, we have tickets for a musical performance the first week of April, in a small theater. We don’t know what we’ll do. Perhaps by then, most gatherings will be discouraged, if not actually barred by officials. We’ll see.

As readers can no doubt tell, I’m concerned, perhaps even shaken by how fast things are happening. And the Texas Gal and I are both older than sixty, which we have to take into account. So, with very few exceptions, we’re going to stay home. The Texas Gal added to her stock of yarn yesterday so she can continue to crochet as we watch television, and I stopped by the public library and added seven books to my reading pile. And I’ll no doubt find plenty of time to sit at the other keyboard and dig into my pile of music books old and new.

And here’s a fitting tune: “(Staying Home and Singing) Homemade Songs” by Tracy Nelson and Mother Earth. It’s from the 1972 album Tracy Nelson/Mother Earth.

Forty-Eighty Years Ago On KINK

Wednesday, March 11th, 2020

I wondered what might I night find at the Airheads Radio Survey Archive if I looked for surveys from stations that called themselves progressive rather than Top 40. And I found a station whose call letters I could not resist. So here are the ten albums that made up the weekly survey at KINK in Portland, Oregon, forty-eight years ago today:

Border Lord by Kris Kristofferson
Eat A Peach by the Allman Brothers Band
Feedback by Spirit
Peter by Peter Yarrow
Cochran by Wayne Cochran
Don Quixote by Gordon Lightfoot
Headkeeper by Dave Mason
Burgers by Hot Tuna
Hellbound Train by Savoy Brown

That’s an interesting mix of albums in that 1972 chart. Three of them – the Hot Tuna, the Lightfoot and the Allman Brothers albums – wound up at one time or another on the album shelves here. The Yarrow is on the digital shelves here. The others are not . . . . except for a few tracks:

“Chelsea Girls” by Spirit
“Little Girl Lost” by Kristofferson
“Sleepless Nights” by Wayne Cochran & The C.C. Riders

And finding that last track, “Sleepless Nights,” in the digital stacks here was a surprise because, as I scanned that KINK survey, Cochran’s name was the one I did not recognize. His picture at discogs.com was not familiar. His entry at Wikipedia tells me in its first paragraph that he was known for outlandish outfits and his hairstyle, and that he wrote the song “Last Kiss.” (And the hairstyle is, indeed, something else.)

I left Cochran’s bio to ponder later and listened to the track. Not bad.

But how did it get here? A click or two later, I realized that it got here via the massive three-LP sampler called The Music People that Columbia released in 1972. I likely acquired the sampler during the months between my discovering music blogs and my setting up my own blog; many of the performers’ names are now far more familiar to me from my puttering here than they were in 2007. I may want to look back at that sampler a bit more.

But not today. Today’s we’re just going to listen to Wayne Cochran and the C.C. Riders’ “Sleepless Nights” as it came out on the 1972 album Cochran, the one that KINK included in its survey forty-eight years ago today.*

Here’s “Sleepless Nights.”

*The video has been mistitled as “Sleepness Nights & Long Long Days,” a confusion stemming, I think, from the fact that an edit of “Sleepless Nights” – the version included, actually, on The Music People – was issued in June 1972 as the B-side to a single release of “Long, Long Day” from the Cochran album.

The Moody Blues: 1972

Thursday, February 13th, 2020

As Christmas approached in 1972, I had no idea that the Moody Blues had recently released an album. I knew that in the spring, as I was finishing my first year of college, the group had released a single, “Isn’t Life Strange,” which I’d heard a fair amount and liked a bit.

During that autumn, spurred by my having heard the group’s A Question Of Balance across the street at Rick’s – and also likely spurred by having liked “Isn’t Life Strange” coming out of the radio in the spring – I acquired the four-year-old In Search Of The Lost Chord through a record club and was, as I’ve noted here before, pretty well disappointed and baffled.

So I didn’t quite know what I had in my hands when, a couple of days before Christmas, Rick gave me the group’s new album, Seventh Sojourn, as a Christmas present. Now, nearly fifty years later, I know it’s my favorite album by the group, the one I’ve no doubt listened to more than any other. For a couple of years not quite a decade ago, it was one of three or four albums that I played softly at my bedside as I went to sleep.

Now, is it my favorite because I’ve had it longer than almost any other album by the group? Entirely possible, perhaps even likely. And if it’s my favorite, does that mean it’s the group’s best album? I don’t know, but it may be the best, for a couple of reasons.

First, the sound was richer. The five members of the group began putting the album together in the studio (a converted garage) at Mike Pinder’s home, Beckthorns, in early 1972, and as they did, they began using a new instrument called the Chamberlain, which replaced the Mellotron. “It worked on the same principle as the Mellotron , but had much better quality sounds – great brass, strings and cello and so on” said Justin Hayward, as quoted in the notes to the 2008 CD release of Seventh Sojourn.

Second, the group had left behind much of the mysticism that had permeated its earlier albums. There were no spoken word interludes on the album, and the album had no introductory segment; it just took off into the first track, “Lost In A Lost World,” and headed on from there. The music is as accomplished as ever, and the lyrics are more down to earth, if sometimes a hair preachy as in the ecological plaints of “Lost In A Lost World” and “You & Me.”

Otherwise, there are love songs – “New Horizons,” “For My Lady” are fairly traditional love songs, and even “Isn’t Life Strange” and “The Land Of Make Believe” work on the topic of love in one way or another. There’s the open letter to academic and hallucinogenic drug advocate Timothy Leary, who spent 1972 in exile in – according to Wikipedia – Switzerland, Austria, Lebanon and Afghanistan. And there’s the closer, with the band proclaiming “I’m Just A Singer (In A Rock And Roll Band).”

Some of the tracks are a little self-conscious and perhaps overbearing, I’ll acknowledge, giving the group a sense of self-importance that could be off-putting. But when I was nineteen, that slid right past me, and besides, it’s a flaw that runs through almost all of the Moody Blues’ catalog, something you know you’re gonna get when you cue up the record.

I don’t recall a lot of folks around me talking about the album, as had been the case with the release of Every Good Boy Deserves Favour a year previously. But that was probably because I was generally hanging around with fewer and different people than I had been a year earlier, and I spent a lot more time than I had the year before down in the rec room listening to my albums, with Seventh Sojourn near the top of the playlist.

So how good is it and how well was it received? As for the latter, the album was No. 1 on the Billboard 200 for five weeks, starting in the second week of December 1972 and continuing on into January 1973. The previous spring, “Isn’t Life Strange” had reached No. 29 during a ten-week run on the magazine’s Hot 100, and in February 1973, “I’m Just A Singer (In A Rock And Roll Band)” began its own ten-week run on the Hot 100 that peaked at No. 12.

As to how good the album is, it’s more difficult to separate my affection for the album from its quality than it has been or will be for any of the other albums by the Moody Blues. I have to give it an A-.

Here’s the album’s opening track, “Lost In A Lost World.”