Strange but true: The early ‘70s gave rise to not one but two bands named Walrus. The first was a US-based rhythm and blues outfit from Los Angeles, while the second—the one under scrutiny here at “The I-Own-Every-Record-You’d-Never-Buy” CD Consumer’s Guide—was a horn-driven hard rock group from England. Walrus, first released in 1970 on Deram Records, is another one of those hit-or-miss jazz-rock projects. This one is decidedly miss. The driving, highly energized “Who Can I Trust?” proves an effective opener, and “Why” is an interesting foray into folk-rock, but it soon becomes clear that something is amiss. Perhaps it’s the vocalist, whose grating voice and awkward phrasing is ill-suited to front such a brass-heavy conglomeration. Or maybe it’s the lifeless compositions, completely lacking in melody or song structure. Either way, the record is a disappointment. “Turning” includes a spoken word introduction (the less I say about spoken word bits, the better), while “Tomorrow Never Comes” is buried beneath the sounds of a Mexican-flavored dance band. Weird. I don’t know what ever happened to the American Walrus, but let’s hope they fared better than their European counterparts; the UK Walrus was done by the end of the following year.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Walrus
Strange but true: The early ‘70s gave rise to not one but two bands named Walrus. The first was a US-based rhythm and blues outfit from Los Angeles, while the second—the one under scrutiny here at “The I-Own-Every-Record-You’d-Never-Buy” CD Consumer’s Guide—was a horn-driven hard rock group from England. Walrus, first released in 1970 on Deram Records, is another one of those hit-or-miss jazz-rock projects. This one is decidedly miss. The driving, highly energized “Who Can I Trust?” proves an effective opener, and “Why” is an interesting foray into folk-rock, but it soon becomes clear that something is amiss. Perhaps it’s the vocalist, whose grating voice and awkward phrasing is ill-suited to front such a brass-heavy conglomeration. Or maybe it’s the lifeless compositions, completely lacking in melody or song structure. Either way, the record is a disappointment. “Turning” includes a spoken word introduction (the less I say about spoken word bits, the better), while “Tomorrow Never Comes” is buried beneath the sounds of a Mexican-flavored dance band. Weird. I don’t know what ever happened to the American Walrus, but let’s hope they fared better than their European counterparts; the UK Walrus was done by the end of the following year.
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