The third volume in the stellar
Gear Fab series is the second straight to go the route of wholly unknown singles from garage rock's prime period, 1965-1968. None of the songs or artists has been previously compiled on any of the torrent of like-minded archival collections, which at the very least gives the album a welcome novelty, even if the music contained therein is not necessarily among the best of the genre. For aficionados and collectors who simply cannot get enough sloppy aggression, brilliantly inept and dunderheaded fuzz solos, pounding snares, and snot-nosed, moodier-than-thou attitude, however,
Volume 3 is more of what cures you, a potent elixir of angst-ridden garage rock, unsteady folk-rock ballads, and sublimely ridiculous attempts at psychedelia. All of the normal bands are religiously aped. First-stringers
the Beatles,
the Rolling Stones,
the Zombies,
Left Banke,
the Byrds, and
the Yardbirds are mimicked ad infinitum, sometimes with a modicum of success, most of the time disastrously. There are some interesting homages to second tier bands like
Beau Brummels,
the Turtles, and
the Rascals as well, and some of the more ambitious bands incorporate elements of soul and R&B, bits of
Love or
the Chambers Brothers,
Bo Diddley's patented rhythms, or
Ikettes-style background vocals. For those who think this stuff is nothing but cultural and musical detritus,
Volume 3 has plenty of the expected inanities and more rough spots than either of the previous editions in the series. In other words, it makes a frustratingly one-note listen at times and is likely to step on a nerve or two of the unconverted. There are a few too many sub-
Kingsmen frat-rockers and some unwelcome (to garage fans, at least) ventures into
Outsiders/
American Breed pop/rock territory, generally handled much more amateurishly and without the commercial polish of those bands. That being said, part of what makes this stuff so endearing to its true fans is the unstudied and youthful untidiness of it all, even the -- no offense meant -- incompetence of the performances. The very amateurishness on display throughout is the primary charm, and even with the generally unvarnished and small-time nature of much of the music, there are still some true pinnacles and sparkling moments, songs that deserve a much better shake than they have received thus far. The songs that recast
Yardbirds-style rave-ups -- particularly
the Chimes' terrific
"#38" -- are perhaps the most infectious moments, but the most interesting tunes are the ones where you can audibly here the connections being made, the chances being taken.
The Sole Survivors'
"Love Her So," as an example, teeters on the edge between the pop/rock ballad that it is (as evidenced by the title) and the more interesting psychedelia (the ominous sway of the chorus, the minor-key chord changes) that it seems to want to be, a rather advanced notion for 1966. Those moments of transition, when you can actually hear the wheels turning in the heads of these kids, are what ultimately make this collection so appealing, even if you have to plow through the jungle to find this music. ~ Stanton Swihart
