THE MONKEES - HEAD (FILM) @ 55

 

It was 55 years ago today when the one and only feature film by The Monkees, HEAD, officially hit theatre screens with its New York City premier on November 6th, 1968. While the film systematically dismantled the band's carefully cultivated pre-teen "manufactured image" in the hopes of appealing to a more mature, progressive counterculture audience, it ended up only alienating existing fans while the hipsters never even gave it a chance due to the band's reputation. And while it was initially a staggering commercial flop, ravaged by critics of the time, something strange happened in the decades following its release. Since then, it has become a deeply treasured cult film, inspiring in-depth analysis and speculation and, in retrospect, is seen as one of the very few films of the psychedelic era to actually capture the true experience of the trip, rather than portray it within the context of a "cautionary tale".

At the time the idea began floating about for doing a Monkees movie, the TV series was wrapping up its second and final season. Both the band and the show's producers were looking to break out of the format of the TV show. While it had been an innovation in TV structures at the time, it still had its own very rigid internal formula, one designed to mostly appeal to a younger audience and was only mildly concerned with making any kind of philosophical or political statements. Everyone essentially knew they simply weren't interested in creating a feature length version of a Monkees TV show episode. In order to help redefine their position and plot a course forward, Bob Rafelson, the show's creator and producer, hired friend and then an unknown young actor by the name of Jack Nicholson to help with the script. As his first foray into the world of feature films, Rafelson was entirely expecting that this might be his only chance to make a movie, so he set the basic premise that he wanted HEAD to be a collection of vignettes, each with a different reference to a Hollywood trope or style. If this was the only movie he'd ever get the chance to make, he wanted to make every kind of movie he's ever loved.

In order to flesh out the details of this conception, Bob, Jack and the band ensconced themselves at an Ojai, California, resort, where, with tape recorder constantly rolling, they got high and brainstormed their little hearts out, spewing forth a barrage of disparate ideas and scenarios, allowing nothing to limit their imagination. At one point, someone asked Bob what the blackest thing in the universe could be and, thinking for a moment, he concluded it was Victor Mature's hair, thus concocting the premise that the entire movie takes place in his hair. After the weekend brainstorming session was completed, Jack took the tapes and began the impossible task of trying to stitch all these crazy notions together into a script that could make some sort of thematic sense. He had to craft ways to get from one scene to another with no apparent connection between them. In the end, he came up with an approach that took the viewer on a journey as if they were watching the TV, flipping through channels and landing on random programs, with a continuity of themes that would keep surfacing again and again with each change of the channel. Ideas of media control, packaging, pandering to expectations, confinement, interpretation and escape all wove themselves together through this madcap journey, dissecting the band's image and intent, and rebuilding it into a commentary on popular culture and the nature of reality itself. Ambitious stuff for something that looked like a hodgepodge mess from the outside.

The music for the film was obviously still an integral component and the band made every effort to ensure that its maturity and sophistication went well beyond anything they'd done before. With two original songs from Peter, one from Mike, one from Harry Nilsson and two more from Carole King, they had a half dozen solid compositions to work with. As well as the band's own performances, session musicians included such luminaries as Neil Young, Leon Russell, Ry Cooder and Stephen Stills. For Mike's Circle Sky, the band were filmed performing the song live, with absolutely zero augmentation or post production overdubs. It's a roaring proto-punk raver that shows the group off as the tight, intense garage band they had become in the real world. Carole King's Porpoise Song became the visual highlight of the film as they utilized the then unknown technique of solarization, a process which was expensive and difficult to achieve and which ultimately caused delays in the post production phase, pushing back the release date. For the accompanying soundtrack album, Jack Nicholson was put in charge of editing the LP together, taking the half dozen songs and interspersing them with a cut-up assemblage of audio and score music cues from the film. The end result is something akin to the likes of Nurse With Wound or Negativland, with bizarre juxtapositions of dialogue and sound effects creating bridges between the album's core musical elements.

Production on the film got off to a rocky start, with the band discovering that only Jack would get scripting credits, something that was necessitated by industry union rules at the time requiring a single name to be associated with the screenplay. There were also disputes over the wages being paid to the band, which resulted in the group going on strike the first day of shooting, with only Peter showing up to the set. It was pretty tense and the friction between Rafelson and the band afterwards never really resolved itself, leaving a permanent rift between the producer and the band.

Promotion of the film was approached with the same sense of experimentation which had driven the creation of the movie. Inspired by Andy Warhol's film, Blowjob, which shows nothing but a man's head and expressions as he receives oral copulation, the poster for the film and the TV ad showed the head of John Brockman, who did the PR for the film. As a gag, the title, HEAD, was chosen because the producers were looking forward to their next film project, where their promotions could proudly proclaim, "from the people who gave you HEAD". The ad taglines summarized it as a "most extraordinary adventure, western, comedy, love story, mystery, drama, musical, documentary satire ever made (And that's putting it mildly)." The band themselves were conspicuously absent.

The evening of the NYC premier, Rafelson commented that he and Nicholson were arrested "for trying to put a sticker on a police officer's helmet as he mounted his horse." With the film deliberately destroying the mythology of the band, young Monkees fans were completely turned off by the product and the critics took it as an opportunity to destroy the band in print. With nearly nonexistent box-office receipts, the film vanished from theatres with little notice and it began its journey through the cultural underworld, waiting to be reappraised by the public.

My first exposure to the movie came on December 30, 1974, when CBS aired it as their Late Movie after the 11 o'clock news. I happened to be out with my parents at their friends place, where I stumbled on the film on TV and got a chance to see roughly half of it before I was yanked away from the screen so we could go home. I desperately tried to find it when we did get home, but it seemed to have vanished from the airwaves. I was a fan of the TV series and had no idea what this was, but I knew I LOVED IT! I was only 11 years old at the time, but something about it mesmerized me. Yet I had no opportunity to see the complete film again until about 1989, when I was loaned a VHS tape with a dub of the film on it, accompanied by John Water's Desperate Living. I watched the two movies while out of my mind on mescaline and had a religious experience with both of them. At that point, I became an evangelist for HEAD, insisting on showing it to everyone and anyone who I could get to sit down in front of my TV for 90 minutes, preferably under the influence of a suitably potent psychedelic substance. There wasn't a single case where the film didn't make an impact, and there are a number of converts who were created by my efforts. I eventually got VHS, then DVD editions of the movie and, once the internet came into common use, discovered that there were many others out there who had come to appreciate the movie the way I do. I still consider it in my top three favourite films of all time, which includes the aforementioned Desperate Living, and The Holy Mountain by Alejandro Jodorowsky.

In recent years, there have been many people who have done in-depth explorations of the film's themes and structure. It has spawned actual university courses! The book The Monkees, Head, and the 60s, written by Peter Mills, who taught the university course, offers an excruciatingly detailed exploration of every element of the film, including the threads that lead to its creation and the aftermath of its release. For many, myself included, it is a critical document of 1960s counterculture. Director, Bob Rafelson, went on to produce groundbreaking films like Easy Rider and Five Easy Pieces. For fans of the band, who have long since embraced the film in all its eccentric glory, it has become an indispensable chapter in the band's legacy, one which proves beyond any doubt that they were artistically and creatively valid beyond any criticism for their "manufactured" origin.

SONG TO THE SIREN - SURRENDERING TO THE SEA OF LOVE

If there is such a thing as a “perfect” song, my vote goes to Tim Buckley’s Song to the Siren as the most likely candidate.  Ever since it first entered my life in 1984, it has been a go-to piece of music whenever I’ve been gripped in the melancholy of romance.  It’s the song you want to put on whenever you’re feeling alone or when that special someone you thought was your soulmate turns out to be another lost leader.  It’s the perfect “poor me” tune or the ideal song to sink into when you’re adrift in that sea of forlorn love-sickness.  Most people who know the song are familiar with the 1983 version by This Mortal Coil, but there are a lot of other splendid versions out there too and it has something of a fascinating history, which starts with that oddball “pre-fab four”, The Monkees.

By the beginning of 1968, The Monkees had reached a point in their career where they were able to have a bit of a say in not only their own artistic direction, but in helping the careers of other artists whom they admired.  This manifested in ways like using the set on their TV show to display the work of various upcoming visual artists, bringing Jimi Hendrix to tour with them as an opening act and featuring performers on their TV show like Frank Zappa.  On what would turn out to be the final episode of the series, The Frodis Caper, director Micky Dolenz booked upcoming singer/songwriter Tim Buckley to perform on the show in his first network television appearance.

For the performance, which was recorded live and not lip-synced, as was normally done for such shows, Buckley insisted on playing a song he and his songwriting partner, Larry Beckett, had written sometime in late 1967, but hadn’t released yet.  This wasn’t a popular decision for the show’s producers because such opportunities were generally used to promote new releases or some physical product the public could go out and buy, but Tim insisted and the appearance was recorded with him debuting Song to the Siren for the world.  The episode first aired on March 25, 1968.  Not long after this, spurred by the disastrous box-office of their debut feature film, HEAD, NBC pulled the plug on the Monkees TV show and set the band adrift.

On March 4 & 5, 1968, Buckley went into the studio and recorded a version of Song to the Siren using the same basic arrangement he’d use for the Monkees TV show.  The only addition to his 12 string accompaniment was a bit of minimal electric guitar and bass.  This version, however, would never be released in Buckley’s lifetime.  It got shelved and would only ever come out years later, first in 1999 as part of an interment only collection of rarities, and then in 2001 as part of a CD retrospective collection. 

It was two years after the Monkees appearance that he re-recorded the song with a very different, more psychedelic arrangement featuring electric guitar accompaniment instead of the 12 string acoustic.  This was the version released on Buckley’s 1970 LP, Starsailor.  In addition to the updated arrangement, the lyrics were modified slightly as the line “I’m as puzzled as the oyster” didn’t sit right with Buckley and was changed to “newborn child” on the 1970 recording.  At the time of its release, Starsailor represented something of an abrupt shift in style for Buckley, veering off the “folk” trail and into more jazz & experimental territory.  As a result, the album would require some distance from its release before people would retroactively begin to appreciate his bold adventurism.  Because of that, Song to the Siren probably lost a lot of potential fans at first.  This, however, wasn’t the first version of the song to be released.

The first ever official release of the song was by Pat Boone on his 1969 album, Departure.  Boone’s interpretation completely misses the nuances of the work by treating it as if it were some kind of novelty sea shanty.  He even crudely grafted on this ridiculous “Yo-ho-ho” pirate refrain as an intro before proceeding to bluster his way through an entirely unsympathetic rendition.  As such, it was up to the original Monkees performance to buoy the song along in syndicated reruns for the next 2 decades.  The song wouldn't find its full flower until 1983.  This was when Elizabeth Fraser & Robin Guthrie of Cocteau Twins would record a version for the 4AD label’s “super-group” collaboration/compilation project, This Mortal Coil.

Fraser and Guthrie managed to finally grasp the song’s ethereal essence and translate it into a recording which immediately captures the imagination of anyone who hears it.    Fraser’s angelic voice was the perfect vehicle for the song’s mythical lyrical threads and she became the very embodiment of the “siren” from the Greek legends which inspired the song.  Her voice sounded enchanting enough to lure any number of sailors to their doom along those rocky shores.  Along with a suitably intimate and beguiling promotional video, tailor-made for the emerging MTV generation of the era, the ingredients were at last right for the song to become enshrined as a pop music touchstone.  

Since then, it has continued to build momentum as a popular standard with a multitude of cover versions snowballing with each new generation of music makers.  Since it’s re-emergence in 1983, it has received some very respectable treatments from the likes of Sheila Chandra (2001), Robert Plant (2002), Bryan Ferry (2010), Sinéad O'Connor (2010) and Dead Can Dance (2013), to mention only a few of the more notable renditions.  It’s a song that has also proven to be relatively bulletproof in terms of interpretation, at least since its butchery by Pat Boone.  It’s a song that lends itself well to a variety of vocal styles and arrangements while maintaining its ethereal beauty.

In its essence, the song comes to life thanks to the emotional resonance it generates.  It’s a kind of tension between longing and loss and a contrasting sense of hopelessness and optimism.  Thematically, the foundational concept of it is the myth of the Greek sirens, the enchanting creatures of the sea who vex sailors with a song so alluring that they are inescapably drawn to the shores where their vessels are smashed against it’s craggy rocks.  It uses this myth to weave a braid of the feelings of helplessness, anticipation and sorrow which one is possessed by when experiencing the deep passions of romance, particularly the tragic kind.  There’s a sense that love is a doomed adventure, but that it’s so beautiful that it’s worth the price of one’s own demise.  There’s a kind of surrender to the inevitable in the lyrics.  “Should I stand amid the breakers or should I lie with death my bride?”  Should I try to resist or should I give in to my doom?  “Swim to me, let me enfold you” is the act of surrender and sublimation into the inescapable nature of it all.  It’s a kind of melancholy that washes over you like the tide.

Structurally, the song has been referred to as the perfect marriage of melody and lyric and for good reason.  There’s a flow to it all that makes every movement as natural as rolling waves on the shore.  Each line and verse flows together so seamlessly that you can’t resist the current of it as it carries you along.  There’s not a wasted meter or measure in it as it has that ideal economy of an ecosystem in immaculate balance.  The tune swells and subsides as automatically as breathing.  It’s no wonder that it has become such a favorite standard for contemporary vocalists.  

For me, and for many others, the definitive rendition remains the one by This Mortal Coil as it was the one which breathed new life into the song after languishing, mostly forgotten for over two decades.  This was the first version I can recall, which is odd because I have been a huge fan of the Monkees ever since I was a toddler when the show debuted.  Yet I don’t recall Buckley’s performance from my youth and it was only when the show was revived by MTV in 1986 when I saw The Frodis Caper episode again and had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I realized where the song had originated. I have found myself returning again and again to that Monkees show performance since then.  There, in the simplicity of Tim's heartfelt rendering, with nothing but his voice and guitar, that you feel like you're witnessing the birth of an angel.  That it would end up being the “swan song” for the TV series is somehow appropriate as The Monkees became victims of their own tragic love story, lured into their own rocky shore.  But we can be thankful that this rendition has survived in these reruns for future generations to be able to witness this remarkably intimate revelation as it occurred all those years ago.

Check out my complete playlist of even more versions on YouTube.

THE MONKEES - CHANGES @ 50

50 years ago this month, in June of 1970, The Monkees, or what was left of them, released what would become the final album of their original era of their existence, Changes. After a mere 5 years, they had gone from the staggering heights of screaming teen heart-throb superstars to plunging to the level of "red-headed stepchild" of pop culture. Dismissed, reviled and ridiculed, they'd fizzle out like a dud firework. Or did they?

After the wild success of their first 4 LPs and two seasons of the TV show, things started to take a turn in 1968 with the double whammy of a feature film box office disaster, HEAD, followed up with an ill conceived and somewhat nightmarish variety special, 33 1/3 Revolutions Per Monkee. It was all too much for Peter Tork, who split after the TV special was filmed, but they soldiered on as a trio through a couple more LPs and a smattering of TV guest appearances on things like Hollywood Squares and the Johnny Cash show. By the end of 1969. however, it was enough for Michael Nesmith, who was the next to depart and move on to a more creatively fulfilling solo career.

With the proper "musicians" (and control freaks) out of the picture, the two "actors" of the group, Micky Dolenz and Davy Jones, were looking to rekindle their chart success and, not being driven by the need to have that full say in their material, reverted to the format of the group prior to the creative "revolt" and musical director, Don Kirshner's dismissal. They went back to the record label's stable of pop song-smiths and Wrecking Crew studio musicians and put together another "pre-fab" style LP, the kind they'd been so successful with on their first two LPs. But the bloom was too far off the rose by this point to score any chart success and the commercial failure of the album put the final nail in the Monkees coffin. Jones and Dolenz went their separate ways, thus ending the initial lifespan of the group.

But what kind of album do we actually have in this swansong? It took me a long time to give it any attention or consideration. I'd always dismissed it as the last gasp of a dying concept. It was the last album from the original era that I bothered to add to my library and I only initially did so out of my obsessive-compulsive habit of wanting "completeness". When I collect a band, I like to get EVERYTHING they did, good, bad and ugly, and I assumed this album pretty much tagging only two out of three of those attributes and you can guess which ones.

When I finally got around to giving it a proper, objective listen, what I discovered was that it is actually a rather nicely crafted bit of bubblegum pop music. Firstly, you've got the vocal talents of Micky Dolenz. I don't care what anyone says, but I consider him one of the great vocal talents to emerge from the 1960s. And then there's still good songwriting talent coming to bare on the record. Andy Kim and Jeff Barry contributed most of the songs to the album and there are some great tunes in the bunch. Ticket on a Ferry Ride is a sublimely beautiful bit of pop confectionery. Even Dolenz contributes a spry tune in the form of Midnight Train, though I must say that the album version pales in comparison to the a-cappella demo version he did with sister Coco. She was Dolenz's secret weapon throughout his career and it's no wonder she's still a critical part of his touring entourage to this day, solo or with The Monkees. With a similar vocal tone, but slightly higher range, she was often the vocal "flying buttress" that helped lift Micky up to the heights he might not have fully scaled on his own.

Ultimately, while this may not be The Monkees best, it is definitely not their worst (Pool It takes that "honor"). What it is, is a beautifully crafted, neglected pop album with more good to it than bad and worthy of a second look for fans of the group who want to dig a bit deeper than the obvious hits. It was the last chapter in the first part of their story, but it wasn't a tragic one.