By the Moody Blues I have Days of Future Passed reissue, Days of Future Past (stand alone). As mp3 Magnificent Moodies, In Search for the Lost Chord, On The Threshold of a Dream, To Our Children’s Children’s Children, A Question of Balance, Every Good Boy Deserved Favour; as Seventh Sojourn (stand alone). Plus soloish lps: Justin Hayward & John Lodge: Blue Jays; Ray Thomas: From Mighty Oaks.
Yes I was a fan 🙂 but I sort of outgrew them & lost interest after Seventh Sojourn. I did hear the later output but it sounded tired & forced, also enough is enough. There are moments, tracks on all the Moody lps that I love, that bring back memories of l.s.d trips & lying on the floor of my bed room staring up the the glowing stars on my ceiling. Glowing as they were made of ‘glow globs’ a sort of plasticine the absorbed light then glowed in the dark.
I also have memory of driving with my Dad when ‘Nights in White Satin’ came not he radio & I turned it up & he said it sounded like the howling of wet cats. That lp was a powerful influence on me though. The spoken passages became a poetic ideal. The orchestra swept me away. I later found out that the London Festival Orchestra and the group never performed together in studio on the recording. The vocals were sublime. I have two versions, though I can’t tell them apart mind you – but there is a speed timing difference between the studio recorded version & the one that got put on wax.
I couldn’t wait for each new release & felt they were profound as opposed to pretentious studio drug induced mumbo jumble. One reviewer called one of them psychobabble bubble gum. I disagreed then but, you know, he was sort or right except it was very tasty bubble gum that never lost it favour.
The covers were as trippy as the contents. I loved the cover for Every Good Boy, today I find the Children’s hilarious. Each lps has tracks I love. For My Lady, My Diary, Solitary Man. The Timothy Leary stuff on the Lost Chord is sweet but inane. Seventh Sojourn is my favourite.
I added Magnificent several years ago along with the side projects by various members. The side projects are fine, great covers but not real departures from the basic Moody mellotron sound.
To round out the mp3 collection I added The Savage Rose – a Danish psychedelic rock group, formed in 1967by the Koppel brothers with Annisette vocalist. I found the lp of In The Plain in a remainder rack at Zellars, a year or so later I found Your Daily Gift there as well. The first is dense & closer to what become Goth with Annisette amazing vocals taking some tracks to a different level. A hint jazz, progrock & gloom. Gift is the opposite – bright, cheerful with the delightful Postcard song. Both have meandering instrumentals – check them out of YouTube before you hunt down lps. Wild Child is later lp & less experimental than their earlier work more bluesy. I downloaded it from iTunes just to have something else by them. Enjoyable & a nice break from the Moody Blues too 🙂
No Fanfare
3
Putting his glass on the floor Steve sat beside me. I admired the shift of his thigh muscles as they swung one leg over the bench, straddling it like a horse. I could feel myself blush, embarrassed by this meeting of eyes, excited by the approach of his mouth, then its touch on mine, tongues testing, then meeting. His eyes closed, his left arm caressed my neck, my arm, his body leaning into mine.
I wanted to respond but wasn’t sure which instinct, which urge to follow. I shuddered, confused, enjoying his kiss. I could actually enjoy being kissed by another man. Enjoy it as I did in my fantasy. I had expected, in reality, to be disappointed, to be repulsed, but I wasn’t. Pushing him away I got up clumsily & went to the window. I could feel myself shaking, my knees unsteady, my balls tingling.
“What is it?” He asked. His tone knowing & nearly sympathetic. “Too much of a shock?” He said sarcastically.
“I can’t say. The conflict of what I imagined, with what I expected, with what I actually felt, with what I …” To avoid his eyes I forced myself to stare at the plants on the dusty window sill. “I’m shaken by how ready I was to respond to you. I expected more of a reluctance, on my part. Shit, it’s more than … Damn.” I banged the top of the piano with my fist to fill the quiet with the shudder of its strings. “Yesterday I was a slightly screwed up but normal guy. I was coping with this things, somehow. Today I’m …”
“A fag?” Steve broke in abruptly. “A fairy?” His voice a mixture of derision & amusement. “A fucking gear box fruit? Or are afraid of which one of us will take it up the ass?”
“Christ, maybe.” I shouted, stung by the unexpected harshness of the confrontation.
“Don’t panic, Dave.” He caught me with his eyes, his voice gentled. “Nothing is easy. Besides how different is what you are now from what you’ve always been? A man by any other name is still human.” Picking up his drink he slid on the piano bench, inviting me to sit beside him again. “What can I say? I’m no rapist.”
“Sorry.” I sat heavily in the armchair by the door & pulled on one of my still wet snow boots. “I think it would be better if I left. It was foolish of me …” I glanced up wondering if leaving would be more foolish than staying. If I left now it would be harder the next time to let my emotions direct me even this far. It would hurt more, in the long run, to keep suppressing myself just because I was afraid I couldn’t cope with it. I wanted him, but admitting it didn’t make it any easier to take him. Even knowing he could be taken, knowing he wanted me, didn’t make it easy.
“How about one for the road?” Steve asked, tiredly rubbing his upper lip. “It could be colder than you expect, out there.”
“Are you just after my ass?”
“Are you just after MY ass?” He snarled back.”What the fuck do you think?” He got up & stood in front of me. “If I’d known you were looking for a couple of hours of therapy I would have thought twice. Sure, I’m after your ass … but …”
“Look,” I interrupted, my glaring eyes confronted by the bulge in his corduroys. “I honestly,” I stood rather than remain at that level. “Don’t mean,” he was closer to me than I’d expected, I could feel his warmth, “to mislead you.” I could smell his cologne, see the moisture from his drink on his lips. “This is unfair,” I put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed, “but as you said ‘Nothing is easy’.” My hand slid down his arm till it touched his. “To me this isn’t nothing, so it isn’t easy.” I felt a sting of tears but blinked them back, hoping he wouldn’t realize how vulnerable I was.
“I’m tired of being used.” He shoved my arm away, went to the shelf of albums under the stereo & pulled one out.
“Used! You invited me up!”
“I keep hoping the next one will be different. Will be easier. When they’re easier there’s nothing left in the morning. When they aren’t easy, there’s my heart to worry about. I know this isn’t easy. I fucking well know. I live with frustrations the way everyone does. Being gay doesn’t make them different, they’re still frustrations. Like, how many chicks do you have to go through before you get fed-up with looking for the right one? How many almost-came-to-care-for’s does it take to really hurt you, to make you feel hopeless & desperate enough to try anything that comes along? I don’t care about your confusions.” He was shouting, gesturing at me with the album cover. “Just leave me the fuck alone for Christ sake. Find some other soft-hearted, cock-hungry gay guy to start your voyage of self-discovery.”
Don’t miss next week’s thrillingly clumsy conclusion of No Fanfare
TOpoet 
Love the moody blues!