#fever tree

‘Oh good heavens, baby where is my medicine?

Well I must have left it outside with my etiquette.’

A well-deserved drink, and for once I’m not drowning any sorrows…or attempting to swallow any pain.

I tell you what, the world of American style gin, and not your typical ‘London Dry’ style is a much welcomed change. Plus I go for the highest octane I can so as I don’t drink it all in one night.

Valhalla: Valhalla (1969)

It’s a shipwreck, alright!

You’d be forgiven for presuming that a band called Valhalla hailed from frigid Scandinavia, but turns out singer Bob Hulling, guitarist Don Krantz, organist Mark Mangold, bassist Rick Ambrose and drummer Eddie Livingston joined forces in leafy Long Island, in the late ‘60s, initially as The Iron Butterfly ... 

No, seriously!

But, upon learning that another young band in San Diego had snagged that colorful moniker ahead of them, the quintet settled on Valhalla and were promptly recruited by United Artists, who were no doubt keen to discover and make lots of money from their own Butterfly or Vanilla Fudge.

Come to think of it, can it be sheer coincidence that “Valhalla” and “vanilla” have so many letters in common, since our young hopefuls were surely aspiring to unseat the reigning kings of Long Island psychedelia?

Probably not, but Valhalla’s one and only, self-titled album would both appear and disappear without much of a trace in 1969 -- and with good reason since it trafficked in most of those beat-to-death Age of Aquarius clichés, just as these were swiftly going out of fashion.

Personally, I can deal with the band’s high-energy, overdriven stabs at heavy psych, as exemplified by opener “Hard Times” and the elephantine “I’m Not Askin’,” in which Mangold’s glass-shattering organ reminds me of Deep Purple Mk.I (if only Krantz reminded me of Ritchie Blackmore).

But Valhalla’s debut was otherwise mired in ponderous ballads (“Conceit,” “JBT”) and symphonic prog (“Deacon,” “Conversation,” the pompously named, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vidda” wannabe “Overseas Symphony”) that was frankly not worth whatever it cost U.A. to stuff an entire orchestra into the studio.

There was also a showboating jazz exercise called “Roof Top Man” and the ongoing Vietnam War inevitably permeated numerous songs (“Ladies in Waiting,” the Cream re-write “Heads are Free,” etc.), making this a product of its era in every way ... except a good way.

So, believe me when I tell you that the world was a happier place without further Valhalla product in it, but keyboardist and chief songwriter Mark Mangold wasn’t going to give up so easily ...

Instead, he reinvented himself for the 1970s with progressive rock trio American Tears, then shape-shifted for the ‘80s with arena rockers Touch, then flew against all ‘90s fashions with saccharine AOR-mongers Drive, She Said ... and don’t be fooled by the cool-ass name, 'cos they sounded like The Outfield, only worse!

I’ll leave it at that, but a quick Internet search suggests that Mangold is still out there, somewhere: likely wreaking musical havoc in some dark, dingy, outdated alley of the music industry, all of half a century after Valhalla’s undignified 1960s shipwreck.