#flied egg

Bodkin: Bodkin (1972)

Once more into the depths we go, and I felt compelled to consult a dictionary for this one:

bod·kin /ˈbädkən/ noun

A blunt, thick needle with a large eye used especially for drawing tape or cord through a hem;

A small pointed instrument used to pierce cloth or leather;

A Scottish rock band most of us have never heard of.

Nor would we, if not for my boundless/reckless curiosity for hirsute, hoary, heavy-handed, all-but-forgotten groups from the early 1970s, which was precisely when this curiously named quintet briefly walked the primordial Earth before facing historical extinction.

And yet, somehow, Bodkin's name survived among diehard record collectors, even though (or perhaps because) they only pressed a few hundred copies of this set of long-winded jams -- all of them dredged from the foggy realm between the prog-rock highlands and psych-rock lochs (in a manner of speaking) of their homeland.

Fact is: these barely produced efforts by vocalist Zeik Hume, guitarist Mick Riddle, bassist Bill Anderson, drummer Dick Sneddon, and a dominated Doug Rome on Hammond organ were probably no more than demos that no label saw fit to release.

And why would they?

Like similarly flawed contemporaries such as Jade Warrior, Steel Mill, and Ainigma, Bodkin simply lacked the instrumental abilities and songwriting sophistication to pull off these overly ambitious, often plodding, even clumsily arranged explorations.

OK, so the morbidly-named, two-part, side one-spanning "Three Days After Death" sort of keeps it together with its epic blend of marching rhythms, pounding bass, serpentine guitar riffs, and hymnal, semi-classical keyboards, behind Hume's insecure wailing.

But unwanted psychedelic hangovers undermine both the queerly named "Aftur Yur Lumbe" (think Cream at their absolute worst) and the eleven-minute "Aunty Mary's Trashcan," with its dated, whimsical nonsense about tin cans, broken vases, and grandfather clocks.

And besides briefly quoting from Holst's "Mars, Bringer of War," the album's sole, remote connection to proto-metal, "Plastic Man," merely shifts the focus from keys to guitar, but Riddle's leaden tones and sullen power chords hardly resemble Black Sabbath.

Come to think of it, Bodkin's effort does sort of sound like "Iron Man," if he were made of, you know, "plastic."

So keep in mind that vinyl-hawking reissue labels have obviously tried to put a kinder spin on Bodkin's oft-forgotten relic over the years, and, to be fair, I too have heard a lot worse, but (stop me if you've heard me say this before) I've also heard a lot better!

In other words, don't be fooled by the album's inexplicably copious reissues (let alone that one cover overhead boasting a Baphopmet symbol to suggest occult rock or metallic contents), and approach Bodkin with the same caution you would give a "blunt, thick needle."

More Vintage Progressive Rock: Art's Supernatural Fairy Tales, Beckett's Beckett, Birth Control's Operation, A Bolha's Um Passo à Frente, Can's Ege Bamyasi, Clear Blue Sky's Clear Blue Sky, Crack the Sky's Crack the Sky, Culpeper's Orchard's Culpeper’s Orchard, Dies Irae's First, Eloy's Eloy, Flied Egg's Dr. Siegel’s Fried Egg Shooting Machine, Focus' Moving Waves, Frumpy's Frumpy 2, Fuzzy Duck's Fuzzy Duck, Genesis' Nursery Cryme, Goblin's Profondo Rosso, Gracious' Gracious!, Hard Meat’s Hard Meat ...

Flied Egg

Rolling Down the Broadway

Speed, Glue & Shinki: Speed, Glue & Shinki (1972)

As Julian Cope chronicled in his massively educational JapRockSampler, that country's rock scene of the late '60s and early '70s was full of strange and exotic artists, all of them seeking their own way to process and interpret Western trends.

And arguably none of them was stranger or more exotic than the rock 'n' roll deviants known as Speed, Glue & Shinki: a power trio that saw the period's self-liberating drug culture as an integral part of their equally experimental musical endeavors.

Alas, like their no-holds-barred, often chaotic stoned jams, the band members' personal and creative relationships found themselves in a state of serious disarray during the recording of their eponymous double-vinyl sophomore album in 1972.

Their ostensible bandleader, virtuoso guitarist Shinki Chen (formerly of Food Brain), was already partially distracted from the proceedings, and so was original bassist Masayoshi 'Glue' Kabe, who was itching to resume his hobo-like travels.

This left preternaturally wired vocalist and drummer Joey 'Speed' Smith no choice but to jump into the driver's seat and, along with new bassist Mike Hanopol, accelerate the band's acid rock school bus right over the cliff of reason.

The duo wrote most of these 14 songs, which naturally included ultra-distorted, typically loose, proto-metallic acid blues grinds like "Run and Hide, "Calm Down," and a pair of waste-oid anthem for the ages in "Sniffin' & Snortin', Pt. 1" and "Pt. 2 (Vitamine C)" (complete with appropriate sound effects).

The cumulative emotional effect of all this gloriously demented garage rock drudgery (think the MC5 meets Grand Funk meets Black Sabbath meets The 13th Floor Elevators) was so disconcerting that when a flute suddenly flutters across Shinki's "Don't Say No," I almost tried to swat it away in panic.

To be fair, the prodigal guitarist (then known as the "Japanese Hendrix") still managed to showcase his considerable talents on many of these songs, especially the epic "Search for Love" and in the backwards solo of "Wanna Take You Home."

The latter was erroneously credited to Hanopol, even though it obviously duplicates "Take You Home" (1969) by American power trio Fields, while the bassist's other tunes -- "Bad Woman," "Red Doll" -- suggested a passion for Leslie West's Mountain, instead.

But there was no mistaking Joey Smith's dominant role throughout the LP, whether he was croaking like Louis Armstrong across "Flat Fret Swing" or improvising a 13-minute ambient Moog experiment called "Sun - Planets - Life - Moon," which, along with the slightly less free-form "Song for an Angel," took up all of the fourth vinyl side.

Aaaand exhale … COUGH-COUGH-COUGH!

As if you hadn't guessed already, and in spite (heck, perhaps because) of the all-consuming chaos surrounding its recording, Speed, Glue & Shinki ended up delivering a genuine proto-stoner rock (bong) watershed here.

This may not have translated into record sales, and the band's messy collapse soon after left a bitter taste in everyone's mouths (not least their free-spending, un-recouped financial backers), but, all these years later, there's simply no mistaking this short-lived trio's cult legacy with that of any other group.

p.s. -- Some of these words originate in my All-Music Guide review of Speed, Glue & Shinki's eponymous second album.

p.p.s. -- This 2001 reissue of dubious legitimacy doesn't have the best sound, but compensates for it with a deluxe reproduction of the original package, including both its cardboard-grade outer wrap and bright yellow 'tiger' inner sleeve.

Flied Egg

Leave Me Woman

Flied Egg: Dr. Siegel's Fried Egg Shooting Machine (1972)

It should go without saying that Japanese rockers Flied Egg -- yes, I wrote and you read that correctly -- were good humored lads who were in on their own joke; but there are times when you wonder if, perhaps, they didn’t take their music seriously enough?

Regardless, the group’s 50-year-old debut album, Dr. Siegel's Fried Egg Shooting Machine, while anything but an all-time-classic, doesn’t suffer too greatly from the group’s convoluted history and impermanent nature, which I should probably explain.

Flied Egg evolved from an earlier, two-man project called Strawberry Path (they released an album called When the Raven Has Come to the Earth in ‘71), and consisted of Shigeru Narumo (guitar, keyboards, harmony vocals), Hiro Tsunoda (lead vocals, drums), and Masayoshi Takanaka (bass, harmony vocals).

Signed to the prestigious Vertigo label (although my copy is a reissue) on the strength of their past exploits (*), these capable musicians definitely knew how to play, if not what they should be playing, and the result was an intriguing, entertaining, but seriously bipolar LP. 

On the one hand, Flied Egg partook of The Beatles’ teachings, beginning with the Sgt. Pepper tribute of a title track (introduction by Jar Jar Binks ... and who the heck is Dr. Siegel, anyway?) and dousing saccharine pop fare like “I Love You” and “Someday” with vocal harmonies and orchestrated strings. 

On the other hand, they channeled Uriah Heep and loaded up heavy rockers like “Rolling Down the Broadway,” “Burning Fever” and “I’m Gonna See My Baby Tonight” with power chords, Hammond organ, and operatic vocals reminiscent of David Byron and -- in their more hysterical moments -- Focus’ Thijs van Leer. 

I’ve run out of ‘hands,’ so I’ll attribute Flied Egg’s progressive tendencies to -- what else? -- their collective head, which informed the sinister, dreamy symphonic rock of “Plastic Fantasy” and the smorgas(key)bord of “Oke-Kus,” where Narumo does his best to keep up with Keith Emerson and Rick Wakeman.

All three of these musical strains converged on the closing epic “Guide Me to the Quietness,” but instead of pointing the way forward, this signaled the beginning of the end via the ensuing odds ‘n’ sods set, Good Bye Flied Egg, and the band’s subsequent break-up ... probably for the best. 

In conclusion: Dr. Siegel's Fried Egg Shooting Machine doesn’t hold a candle to exotic, truly visionary Japanese proto-metal albums by the likes of Flower Travellin’ Band, Blues Creation, or Speed, Glue & Shinki, but you could also do a lot worse than Flied Egg’s first serving.

* Even before they’d been hand-picked to open for Pink Floyd in ‘71, these guys shared festival stages (**) with fellow leaders of the Japanese rock underground like Shinki Chen (Food Brain, Speed, Glue & Shinki), George Yanagi (Power House), Hiro Yanagida (Apryl Fool, Food Brain), etc.

** Dig the photo overhead of Flight Egg in fright ... I mean Flied Egg in flight.

Flied Egg

Burning Fever

Flied Egg

Rollin’ Down the Broadway