Only two things in this world have the capacity to immediately cause my eyes to glaze over; the first is talk about politics, and the second is the phrase “British blues group.” The momentous impact that the introduction of American blues had on British musicians cannot be overestimated; John Lee Hooker and company instantly transformed a generation of skiffle-mad Brits into blues zombies, fanatical acolytes and slavish imitators of Muddy Waters, B.B. King, and company. Fleetwood Mac, John Mayall & the Bluesbreakers, Long John Baldry, Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated, and countless other bands arose to preach the blues, and there was no way to stop their spreading like kudzu.
I’ve never been a blues aficionado, but Mayall, Baldry, and their like have always haunted and taunted me, goading me into giving them a fair chance, always to my disappointment. Their chief function, so far as I can tell, was as finishing schools for a very long laundry list of future rock greats. Why, Baldry alone is responsible for fostering such neophytes as Mick Jagger, Rod Stewart, Julie Driscoll, Elton John, and others. There is one British blues group, however, that I actually find intriguing, and that’s the Groundhogs. Theirs is a most inauspicious name, and I can’t say I expected much after a friend recommended I give their 1970 LP Thank Christ for the Bomb a listen. But I’ll be damned if the LP isn’t excellent, combining great musicianship with intriguing originals that frequently deviate from your basic blues template.
The Groundhogs were formed in 1963 by titular leader Tony McPhee, the band’s guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter, who borrowed the band name from the title of a John Lee Hooker tune. The band’s history gets a bit twisted, so suffice it to say they briefly changed their name to Herbal Mixture (reefer turn-on alert!) before changing it back to the Groundhogs, and that Thank Christ for the Bomb was the band’s third studio LP, and fourth album overall if you count the 1968 LP they recorded with John Lee Hooker. The Groundhogs were playing as a trio at the time Thank Christ for the Bomb was released, with Peter Cruickshank and Ken Pustelnik joining McPhee on drums and bass, respectively.
McPhee produced Thank Christ for the Bomb, and gave it a cool muddy sound that works wonders. It’s evident from the opening track, the great “Strange Town,” which features lots of hard-to-make-out vocals and lots of brilliant freak-out guitar, to say nothing of an ominously rumbling rhythm section. If it’s a guitar tour de force you’re looking for I definitely recommend you give “Strange Town” a listen, because McPhee plays like a maniac, and I’ll take his work over that of Eric Clapton’s any day. Follow-up “Darkness Is No Friend” shuffles along at a good tempo and reminds me a bit of Captain Beefheart, with McPhee tossing in hot guitar licks here and there. “It’s so easy to shut your eyes/To shut out things that you despise,” McPhee sings as the band breaks into an instrumental free-for-all dominated by his inventive guitar work, which totally blows my mind, maaaan.
As for “Soldier,” it’s an anti-war song that moves at a nice clip, with McPhee providing lots of sage advice to his fellows along the lines of fix your bayonets before the enemy comes pouring over the trenches, because you’ll be a tad busy once they’ve done so. The instrumental interlude has an almost jazzy feel, with the bassist playing like gangbusters and McPhee contributing some licks that go right over the top and into No-Man’s land. The song finally peters out, but not before McPhee counsels his compatriots to forget about deserting, because it’s certain to land them in front of a firing squad.
“Thank Christ for the Bomb” is a great historical number that recounts both world wars, and opens with some very catchy acoustic guitar. The song’s title refers to the atomic bombs dropped on Japan, and almost certainly echoes the sentiments of my old man and every other American combatant faced with the bloodshed certain to follow in the wake of an invasion. I especially like the way McPhee pronounces “bomb” as “bum,” and the herky jerky instrumental that follows, which features lots of drum shuffle before finally exploding in an amazing fuzz guitar solo by McPhee that is one of the most remarkable things I’ve ever heard. The man is a genius on the axe, and his playing on this one reminds me a bit of “Eight Miles High”-era Roger McGuinn. But McPhee goes places I’ve never heard McGuinn or anyone go before the song comes to an abrupt stop, and is followed by two explosions, one each for Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
“Ship on the Ocean” is a fast-paced number and boasts a great bass, inventive drumming, and another guitar solo by McPhee that is fucking incredible. After which the tempo slows while McPhee continues to hang onto a note, and the song comes to an abrupt shipwreck of an ending. “Garden” is a song about everything going to shit, and proceeds at a mid-tempo pace before erupting in a cataclysm with McPhee contributing some cool zooming guitar riffs. Later the song breaks for an instrumental, and McPhee plays more zooming riffs before going into far-out mode, and why aren’t this guy’s trousers in the Rock and Rock Hall of Fame? Maybe because he’s lazy and happy to announce he doesn’t plan to “cut a single blade of grass” in his garden. I can’t think of any other reason as he proceeds to play yet more phenomenal guitar before the song bows out.
“Status People” opens on a kind of prog note, and it’s slow as Moses until the band starts grinding out some really meaty blooz. McPhee repeats a neat riff that gets louder and finally turns into some really powerful rock wank, and it’s a pity he picked that moment to shut the song down. “Rich Man, Poor Man” is a fast-paced blues rocker that positively bristles with big riffs, that is until the quiet interlude during which McPhee sings to the accompaniment of an acoustic guitar. Then the song gets really melodic, with McPhee the hippie singing, “You can have society/I’ll take nature/Combined with peace of mind.” Sure Tony, but where are you going to plug in your guitar in the woods? Even Groundhogs need electricity. As for closer “Eccentric Man,” it’s an electric rocker that chugs along thanks to the rhythm section, while McPhee plays some astounding buzz saw guitar and sings, “Call me an eccentric man.” It should come as no surprise that Julian Cope has cited this tune as a big influence.
The Groundhogs went on to make a lot more music, but most of their albums are too bluesy for my tastes. Still, you run across gems like the revelatory “Cherry Red,” the strange and wonderful “Earth Is Not Room Enough,” and the eccentric and explosive “Split (Part 4),” all of which demonstrate that while McPhee was primarily a blues traditionalist, he had a bit of the oddball in him. Indeed, he belongs amidst the company of the great British musical oddballs. Hell, no wonder Julian Cope likes him. Everyone should like him. Thank Christ for Thank Christ for the Bomb, or perhaps I should say curse it, because now I feel obliged to check out yet another—Alexis Korner, perhaps?—English blues musician, and if things go the way they usually do, I could be in for a world of hurt.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
