Count Five, "Peace Of Mind" c/w "The Morning After, " Double Shot 106 (rel. 11/1966)
A staple of garage-band compilations, "Psychotic Reaction" by San Jose's Count Five combined the surly snarl of American rock with the sonic experimentation of UK groups like The Yardbirds or The Who. Its quick-blend of appealing sounds and themes got it into the national Top 10 in the summer of 1966. It proved the group's lone hit, though they had a steady stream of singles into 1969.
Today's single--one I've not encountered before in all my years of digging--keyed off their LP, named after the hit and recorded in haste to capitalize on unexpected success.
The group was formed by two main members, bassist Roy Chaney and lead guitarist John Michalski, in 1964 in the wake of The Beatles' seismic impact upon American pop culture. These high-school chums had done time in several short-lived bands, including a surf-instrumental group called The Citations. Once America's appetite for all things British became a craze, they became The Squires (rubbing shoulders with dozens of other garage bands who shared that name) and then the inspired Count Five. To further the name's connotations, these chunky SoCal lads wore Dracula capes alongside their pudding-bowl cuts and beefy sideburns.
In his amusing memoir Rock Odyssey, one-hit wonder Ian Whitcomb recalled spending time with this group as they went on a trawl of hometown convenience stores, purchasing one ghastly KrapSnak at a time, en route to nothing in particular. The horrified Whitcomb recounts this average American teenage behavior with faint notes of terror; the anecdote reveals the group's members as ordinary young guys dealing with the boredom of their suburban lives in-between touring as purveyors of what record collectors call popsike.
Like Northern Soul and rockabilly, popsike is an oft-misused term. It stands for popular music tinged with aspects of psychedelia, but dialed down to have mainstream appeal. Its presence makes such music different from, say, the straightforward rock 'n' roll of Paul Revere & The Raiders. Popsike's most successful envoys were the once-derided Monkees, whose recordings teem with light psychedelic touches going back to the B-side of their debut single, with its raga-adjacent rave up and heavy tribal percussion. ("Take a Giant Step," written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin, in case you're interested.)
The Five fit the popsike definition like a familiar, much-laundered T-shirt. They didn't innovate; they synthesized and reacted to music's leaders of the day. The results of their derivative originals are often pleasing and sated with period sounds and sentiments.
"Peace of Mind" sounds enough like "Psychotic Reaction" to connect with listeners eager for more of the same. Searchlight organ, thudding drums, sharp-edged guitars and unison chants lead to rave-up sections with lysergic guitar. The group does their thing well, and the snot-nosed suburban teen POV, so full of itself and sure of its wisdom, is not laid on too thick. Brevity aids this performance which is too diffuse for its brief playing time. In late 1966, a pop song could go over three minutes, and here's a case where an extra 60 seconds might have helped.
Today's single--one I've not encountered before in all my years of digging--keyed off their LP, named after the hit and recorded in haste to capitalize on unexpected success.
The group was formed by two main members, bassist Roy Chaney and lead guitarist John Michalski, in 1964 in the wake of The Beatles' seismic impact upon American pop culture. These high-school chums had done time in several short-lived bands, including a surf-instrumental group called The Citations. Once America's appetite for all things British became a craze, they became The Squires (rubbing shoulders with dozens of other garage bands who shared that name) and then the inspired Count Five. To further the name's connotations, these chunky SoCal lads wore Dracula capes alongside their pudding-bowl cuts and beefy sideburns.
In his amusing memoir Rock Odyssey, one-hit wonder Ian Whitcomb recalled spending time with this group as they went on a trawl of hometown convenience stores, purchasing one ghastly KrapSnak at a time, en route to nothing in particular. The horrified Whitcomb recounts this average American teenage behavior with faint notes of terror; the anecdote reveals the group's members as ordinary young guys dealing with the boredom of their suburban lives in-between touring as purveyors of what record collectors call popsike.
Like Northern Soul and rockabilly, popsike is an oft-misused term. It stands for popular music tinged with aspects of psychedelia, but dialed down to have mainstream appeal. Its presence makes such music different from, say, the straightforward rock 'n' roll of Paul Revere & The Raiders. Popsike's most successful envoys were the once-derided Monkees, whose recordings teem with light psychedelic touches going back to the B-side of their debut single, with its raga-adjacent rave up and heavy tribal percussion. ("Take a Giant Step," written by Carole King and Gerry Goffin, in case you're interested.)
The Five fit the popsike definition like a familiar, much-laundered T-shirt. They didn't innovate; they synthesized and reacted to music's leaders of the day. The results of their derivative originals are often pleasing and sated with period sounds and sentiments.
"Peace of Mind" sounds enough like "Psychotic Reaction" to connect with listeners eager for more of the same. Searchlight organ, thudding drums, sharp-edged guitars and unison chants lead to rave-up sections with lysergic guitar. The group does their thing well, and the snot-nosed suburban teen POV, so full of itself and sure of its wisdom, is not laid on too thick. Brevity aids this performance which is too diffuse for its brief playing time. In late 1966, a pop song could go over three minutes, and here's a case where an extra 60 seconds might have helped.
Terse, grouchy review.
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ezat1aqgusxcv0ncxnwd6/2121a.mp3?rlkey=wcq4efzlu2zmkbe9rtspia86d&st=j4tn54qu&dl=0
https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ezat1aqgusxcv0ncxnwd6/2121a.mp3?rlkey=wcq4efzlu2zmkbe9rtspia86d&st=j4tn54qu&dl=0
"The Morning After," a track from their LP, channels the Donovan sound of his popsike period. A lighter touch blends with a catchy guitar-organ riff that hints at pop music of the 1920s. Psychedelic SFX creep into the guitar soli as our narrator confesses his subdued feeling after a night of...sex? Drugs? Frito-Lay products eaten in excess?
Only songwriter John Byrne knew, and he wasn't telling.
Only songwriter John Byrne knew, and he wasn't telling.
The Five continued to release singles for three years, so they must have moved some product for Double Shot Records, Today's single peaked at an ignoble #125; none of their four follow-ups went anywhere. The group broke up at the end of 1969 but reunited in the late 1980s; a concert was recorded and released as Psychotic Reaction LIVE. That song's influence has kept it among the most popular pieces of American garage music and its appearances on comps like Nuggets furthers its long-standing appeal.
Tomorrow: an INSTRO-MENTAL special, with three fab guitar-led movers guaranteed to galvanize your Saturday. Don't miss it!
I like the garage rock representation! These were new to me. It's been a while, so I'm trying to catch up on your posts here. Thanks for entertaining us.
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome, Andy! Always nice to hear from you! Thanks for sayin' howdy!
Delete