Given that Robyn Hitchcock hails from a day where content may not always match the label, his succinctness of title is here pitch perfect. 1967: Vacations in the Past is a set of songs, all of which came to fruition during the (first) summer of love. Hitchcock formulated the selection to bookend his memoir 1967: How I Got There and Why I Never Left. The jacket copy states, “In January 1966, Robyn Hitchcock is still a boy pining for his green Dalek sponge and his family’s comforting au pair, Teresa. By December 1967, he’s mutated into a 6 ft 2-inch rabid Bob Dylan fan, whose two ambitions in life are to get really stoned and move to Nashville.”
Along the subsequent way, he has become an individual and idiosyncratic voice, as near instantly recognizable for his quirky worldview as for his never more English vocals, despite spending much of his career, and much his success, in the US. (And yes, he subsequently lives in East Nashville, answering on of his ambitions.) Starting off with college radio favorites, the Soft Boys, and then moving forward through and into Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians, he now has a solo career, lasting throughout most of this century. He’s never shy of performing cover versions, especially in a live setting, complementing his own prodigious output. Why, not two weeks ago we were considering his Dylan set, Robyn Sings.
The joy of 1967 is that you don’t have to be familiar with Hitchcock’s memoir (although you might wish to be, I recommend it). It stands perfectly as a stand alone, a snapshot of what the 14 year old boy might have been daydreaming to, on the radio. And you don’t really have to have been there yourself either, the selection, by and large, tendis more toward the big hitters of the year, most of which left a long and illustrious footprint. But I bet you never heard ’em much like this!
It opens with “A Whiter Shade of Pale,” as it really should, the song as potently evocative of those heady days as any, and possibly more so to a boy and a vivid imagination. Hitchcock espouses the organ for paired finger-picked acoustic guitar and trebly electric; as a result, the main motif sounds way more mournful and plangent than the original, almost shockingly so. There is keyboard, but just a backdrop of swathed synthesizer, and the vocals sound almost desperate in their desolation. With some double tracked falsetto, it is a wistful waltz of some unsettling beauty.
Sprits are a bit higher for “Itchycoo Park,” again a strummed rendition that accentuates his angular vocal, and the call and response of, for one, Kimberley Rew, his old mucker from the Soft Boys. Nothing like the Small Faces in sound, it retains a certain similar state of cheeky chappie. And, if you are missing the phasing effects in the original, pop on a pair of cans for the closing bars, which may cause enough similar cerebral mayhem, if played loud enough.
Next up, rather than anything more obvious, the mandatory Jimi Hendrix cover comes via “Burning of the Midnight Lamp.” Fourth single release in the UK, this was demoted to the b side of “All Along the Watchtower” in the US. Not a huge aficionado of the axeman, I confess initial unfamiliarity to the original; listening to it, the cover is actually surprisingly faithful, and it’s clear why Hitchcock was drawn to the song. Effects swamp both the lead guitar (Rew again), and Hitchcock’s vocal, making it sound like a Mott The Hoople outtake, and underscoring Hendrix’s own devotion and debt to Dylan.
The Move’s “I Can Hear the Grass Grow” gets an affectionate tribute, with a 1,2,3,4 start, but the arrangement accentuates the slimness of the actual song. Minus the original production, it does return the same sense of loss, of the past, his past, as with “Whiter Shade.” It also is the first track to feature Kelley Stolz on some time capsule sitar. If Hitchcock had been born in the States, Stolz is who he might be, another singularly wayward talent.
“San Francisco,” which follows, lifts things, by doing the opposite, making the slim song seem far sturdier, unless that is my own muscle memory around the song. Miked up really close, and with a dash of echo, the lyric is rendered conspiratorial and knowing. His diction confirms it only really a non-resident who could wax so convincingly. I love it, with oodles more sitar, together with some reverse piano for the full ’60s vibe.
Instantly recognizable, the opening riff of “Waterloo Sunset” offers, perhaps, a slightly too reverent vision, possibly just the realization it has had too many and too similar renditions. The guitar part is the best part, something that can’t be said for “See Emily Play,” which gets a very solo Barrett style performance. OK, arguably Hitchcock has channeled such a vocal presence forever, but, if you are familiar with The Madcap Laughs, this is how it may have sounded there, perhaps on side one, ahead his psychic implosion that fills most the second side.
“My White Bicycle” was an acquired taste in 1967; it remains so today. Apologies if this a personal favorite, but my opinion of it remains much as it did, gulp, 47 years ago. The guitar parts of Steve Howe, later (and still) of Yes, are provided, in reverse, by Davey Lane. Another relatively lesser known tune is up next, Traffic’s “No Face No Name No Number.” Their version was very whimsical psychedelia, Winwood’s voice achingly fraught. You wouldn’t think Hitchcock would have the pipes for it, but you’d be wrong. Evoking a near falsetto, he ekes more pathos into the song than you would credit him. A superlative version and possibly the best here.
I knew there one original Hitchcock composition on the album, initially assuming this to be “Way Back in the 1960s,” that sounding and seemingly appropriately biographical. But no, this is a Robin Williamson song, from the Incredible String Band’s The 5000 Spirits, or Layers of the Onion. Generously, I will say that Hitchcock likely chose this more for the lyrical sentiment than any reason else. Is it better than the original? Astonishingly, the two are neck and neck, and I’ll leave it that. (Annoyingly, “Vacations in the Past,” the next song and one I had pegged and hoped as being a song by The Strawberry Alarm Clock or the Seeds, is the original new song, and so not subject to our opinion. A shame, as I quite like it, it chock full of a hippy wooziness and more sitar.)
The last song on 1967 is the bravest choice, potentially the reason for leaving it to last: “A Day in the Life.” Yes, that one. with fake vinyl crackles added to start and finish, and it is a triumph. The piano part is broadly the same as Sgt Pepper, if more flowery around the edges, and Hitchcock makes for a not half bad Lennon. Acoustic guitar forms the rest of the arrangement. Davey Lane is again the pianist, with Charlie Francis adding additional keyboard textures of fauxchorstration, as he does elsewhere. The middle section sounds a little like Damon Albarn singing, but remains faithful. Once it gets to the aaaahs, the realization is that he has nailed it, and, given it isn’t a song I like so much any more, largely due to its ubiquity, I’m actually quite grateful.
Heck, there is even a repeating outward groove; mayhap a little backmasking is involved. Without access to vinyl, I can’t say quite what, but hopefully nothing to do with Hitchcock being dead all along, which might stretch the concept. Regardless, a clever little stroke that may go over the head of many a listener, and worth the price of 1967 to an old boomer like me.
1967 tracklisting:
- A Whiter Shade Of Pale (Procol Harum cover)
- Itchycoo Park (Small Faces cover)
- Burning Of The Midnight Lamp (Jimi Hendrix experience cover)
- I Can Hear The Grass Grow (The Move cover)
- San Francisco (Scott McKenzie cover)
- Waterloo Sunset (The Kinks cover)
- See Emily Play (Pink Floyd cover)
- My White Bicycle (Tomorrow cover)
- No Face, No Name, No Number (Traffic cover)
- Way Back In The 1960s (Incredible String Band cover)
- Vacations In The Past (Robyn Hitchcock original)
- A Day In The Life (The Beatles cover)
Great review. Since he is mentioned here I can recommend the latest Kelley Stoltz album Fleur.
Would like to buy this with the book included – does such an option exist?
“without access to vinyl”? It’s the 21st century: put that digital recording in any DAW, use the “reverse” effect, and voila. Easy-peasy. (I’ll save the actual content of the loop for a surprise.)