Posted on by chasinvictoria

Roxy Music – Roxy Music (box set) – Disc 2

1972/2018, 3CD + 1 DVD
CD 2 of 3

THE PROLOGUE

Hopefully you paid attention to my guidance in the prologue to Disc 1, and now you’ve skipped it and come here first. If so, pat yourself on the back — you’re here to watch the house get built, and then when you go back to the familiar sounds of the actual album, you will marvel anew at how well it all came together.

If you didn’t do that, well, I guess the best analogy would be that you already ate a marvelous cake, and now you’re inspired to go to cooking school to learn how such a cake could be made. Here you’re going to hear the false starts, the unfinished lyrics (and in all cases, unfinished songs), the recording fuck-ups either from the band’s missteps or technical goofs, the latter courtesy either their recording engineer (Andy Hendrickson), or producer Peter Sinfield (he of King Crimson and ELP) interrupting sometimes.

Most listeners don’t appreciate the effort that goes into making any album, let alone a great one like this, and so I think it is illuminative to hear bands still working out or tweaking songs while they are in the studio. Not to spoil anything, but Ferry (who wrote all the songs for this album) clearly had his musical ideas more or less lined up for the songs, and often had the central idea behind the song’s lyrics, but frequently added at least some lyrics somewhere along the way to the final song.

An important part on Disc 2 that shouldn’t be glossed over is that we get a taste of an earlier lineup of the band. Before Roxy was quite Roxy, it included bassist Rick Kenton on one track (his part survives on “Virginia Plain,” both the official single included on the album, and the “outtake” version here). Roger Bunn, not Phil Manzenera, handles guitar on the first four tracks on Disc 2, with Dexter Lloyd on drums for those same tracks.

Holy Re-make/Re-model, Batman! This is yet another reason to listen to this disc first — some of this is proto-Roxy before it all really came into focus. We don’t get to hear Ferry deciding his original lineup isn’t working, but things get more interesting starting with Track 5.

You might have picked up on it even if I hadn’t mentioned it, but things get more interesting starting with Track 5.. Manzenera’s contribution in particular helps put a special stamp on the sound.

We also hear that the musicians are still in the process of figuring out the arrangements of the songs. Sometimes they sound like they’re still trying out ideas that may or may not go anywhere, and you’ll hear several portions where solos will later go but aren’t there yet. It’s always kind of weird and jarring when a solo you like just … doesn’t happen.

There’s a feel throughout that Ferry wants to get this very right, and that they know they are doing something different: I mean, it’s not like there were a lot of oboe players routinely adding to rock songs in 1972. Likewise, the demos don’t feature quite as much of an Eno presence, though he is there (especially in th outtakes) — one gets the feeling that he worked out/added his parts himself and tended to add them “live in the studio,” the way it would seem the core of the tracks were recorded.

So, now that the project has mostly come together, let’s go through the demos (rougher) and outtakes (usually very similar to the finished products, sometimes missing parts to be overdubbed later) to spot the differences.

THE MUSIC

Ladytron (demo): A very Eno opening with an electronic atmosphere with a double-tracked oboe and some organ coming in with the introductory melody line as the electronics retreat. Then the electronic soundscape comes roaring back before a cold stop, with a very echoey Ferry and the band finally coming in. Sung in a bit of lower register, and no majestic riff — just a sax solo before the second verse. This is much more avant-jazz in style and just kinda peters out.

2HB (demo): A short bit of that trademark “snake charmer” music, and again it dies out and Ferry and the band come in cold, with a minimal arrangement. The song itself and its lyrics are complete, with Ferry taking front and center. The horns are absent now that the song has started. After the second verse, the whole tune drops out for an echoey instrumental sax break from … well, nothing to do with 2HB, but everything to do with the horns, which eventually devolve into free jazz bouncing off a deep bass sound.

Again, all that drops off the face of the earth and the song returns to finish up. The electric guitar in both song parts is played acoustically.

Chance Meeting (demo): Once again, a quavery verse, a long instrumental break (at least sticking to the song’s tune this time), and then the second verse, then another instrumental break, and another verse, a shorter instrumental break, and out.. Since these songs don’t have choruses, I guess they thought this might be a good way to present them?

The BOB (Medley) (demo): This one does something different: it starts with the first verse. It’s worth noting that there don’t seem to be any difference in lyrics from the finished versions, and the basic melodies also seem to be here for all the songs so far. The structure of the medley and lyrics are also here as it is in the finished song, so the impression of these demos is that Ferry’s got his act together, but the band is starting to work out what they might do in between the verses, and often falling back to easy cliches for now. Not much for Eno to do, though he makes his mark from time to time.

We’re now into outtakes that didn’t work rather than demos, but the band seem to know what each one is supposed to end up sounding like.

Instrumental (outtake): Very short and seemingly improvised riffing against an Eno backdrop. From here on out, it’s the band lineup as credited on the album.

Re-make/Re-Model (outtake): Now this starts off sounding like a song, then dies as Ferry tries to have a second go, and we get something VERY close to what we ended up with for a bit, albeit not mixed well at all. This one has a lot of back-and-forth between the engineer and Ferry, but the third take gels nicely. It kind of shines a light on how the non-vocal parts were shaped (prior to this point) through directed improv. There’s no band call-and-response in this version, though, which to me is second only to the lyrics in importance. The instrumental breaks here are almost identical to the finished product except for the sax.

Ladytron (outtake): By contrast, this one starts out quite a bit differently than the final product, but with the same idea in mind until the oboe comes in. Then a count-in, and Ferry on voice and piano with bass, then drums coming in. More like an actual traditional song after that instrumental break, and they still don’t have that heroic riff at the end of the verses yet.

If There is Something (outtake): trying to get started with the engineer first with Ferry on piano, then they count in and the band get going pretty much as we hear on the final track, except that Ferry hasn’t written past the first couple of lines of the lyric, so it is mostly instrumental — and a bit less “country” sounding. The hypnotic sax riff is here, though. Ferry returns for the … middle lyric? Not-chorus? Whatever you call this bit, the lyric here is done, as is most of the instrumentation. A long break before we get to the middle waiting lyric, with Ferry handling the “when we were young” part also.

2HB (outtake): Not far from the finished product, some unfinished lyrics and much tamer band breaks, and we find out why after the song ends.

The BOB (Medley) (outtake): “There’s no bass guitar or saxophone!” Ferry complains about the previous performance. Doh!

The band begins again in earnest at the 1’15” mark, and now with a just the synth part. It fades out at 3’20, and the second part comes in with the what seems to be the band minus the bass player. They stop and complain about this, and restart only to fall apart almost immediately. Thankfully they laugh about Paul breaking his stick, and suddenly fall into a bass/oboe/piano filler piece briefly. After a bit of natter, they start again and finally all parts can be heard — so they stop again, and faff around for a few more seconds.

Chance Meeting (outtake): Piano and bass only this time. Who the hell is the engineer on this thing?

Would You Believe? (outtake): synth and guitar only this time for the first 1’35”, then the song starts properly, but this is clearly not the final take. You are, however, reminded of Fats Domino’s influence on Ferry.

Sea Breezes (outtake): piano, bass, and drums only this time. This guy is so fired.

Bitters End (outtake): a stately opening, then the sound of the tape being rewound, then the tape jumps around a bit with a odd “fake birdsong” repeated effect. It eventually stops, then some conversation working out a take, then they start again. This is nothing like the 50s barbershop approach they settled on finally, its mostly just the piano and no lyrics. It’s fun to listen to it as almost solo piano, and then they discuss the arrangement a bit.

Virginia Plain (outtake): A false start, then another. Then a harsh cut, and suddenly the song is already in progress. Ferry’s performance is a rote runthrough of the lyrics rather than the actual whole-hearted performance as we ended up with, but we can finally hear the whole band again. Even in this very rough form, you want this song to be in there — it’s the most irresistable thing on the record, and I think they know it full well.

THE VERDICT

Historically speaking, this is fly-on-the-wall time — a glimpse at an earlier lineup (and why some people were replaced), a peek through the door of Ferry working out parts of songs, and a seat at the table as the band starts putting it all together. Re-make/Re-model (which still sounds like a stolen Kraftwerk song title to me) is the closest thing we get here to Athena bursting fully formed from the head of Zeus.

The demos get the basic ideas across but are far from finished, and really I suspect the outtakes were included both to round out the disc as well as embarrass the engineer one final time. Why? Because if there’s one thing we know about Bryan Ferry, it’s that he likes to look polished, poised, and debonair, and the clown in the booth is wasting Ferry’s time and money.

The outtakes remind us that, although he might be a songwriting god (already), Ferry’s a human being and an artist who takes the advice to revise, revise, revise. We are certainly all the better for that discipline, but on top of that we get to hear the new lineup coalesce and figure things out, something you don’t often get to see.

This shines a light on the creative process, and it doesn’t just apply to Roxy Music — these sessions all took place just a couple of years after the Beatles inadvertently documented their disintegration by filming their Let It Be sessions for a TV special.

As indicated by my encouragement to listen to Disc 2 first, I think hearing this first re-shapes how the final album sounds to us. Undoubtedly, most bands could have secret tapes like this, but in the case of Roxy something new and fresh was happening, and I like to think that’s why they kept at it to get this record made.

How lucky for us, eh?

Posted on by chasinvictoria

Roxy Music – Roxy Music (box set) – Disc 1

1972/2018, 3CD + 1 DVD
CD 1 of 3

So now that we’ve already covered the packaging in detail, we can dig into the album proper — but it’s worth remembering that the packaging singularly used “sex” to sell the record. The complete lack of any information about the band (apart from the name) or what the music might sound like — there was just “the girl” — on the front or back cover ensured that only the most curious and intrigued of parties would buy it, if they wanted — or needed — to learn more.

THE PROLOGUE

Luckily for us all the trick worked: the first single was (wisely) chosen as “Virginia Plain,” which served as a calling-card for their elegant, innovative, and varied rock stylings. It went to number four in the UK singles chart, and that pushed the album (which at the time did not include the single) to number 10 in the charts.

This was something different: neither the swamp-rock of Creedence Clearwater Revival, nor the hippie music of George Harrison, and not the R&B white soul sound of Van Morrison, the funk and soul of Gladys Knight or Aretha or Sly Stone, or the gentle pop of Neil Diamond. It was new and different, borrowing from the 50s but adding in sounds of the future and a decidedly eclectic crooner style — and thankfully it caught on with an eclectic group of buyers who took a chance and were richly rewarded.

I used to call the first album “the first New Wave record,” and while I was basing that assessment on my favourite tracks rather than the album as a complete work, I still stand by that description. It took a nearly decade, and the reactionary mid-70s revolution of punk, to create a movement that followed in Ferry and company’s footsteps.

Before we get started, though, a radical rethink: don’t start here. Go directly to Disc 2, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. You will thank me later.

You see, the packagers of this comp (presumably Ferry and various execs) have made a hideous mistake — we should hear how the album came together (aka Disc 2), warts and all, and <em>then</em> you should go back and listen to Disc 1 with enlightened new ears. As I mentioned earlier, if you bought this box then you’ve heard the first album, maybe a hundred times or more.

The real find here is the demos and outtakes, which haven’t been heard before. While the songs (and especially the lyrics) are still familiar, they are cut short, redone, tooled around with, argued over with the engineer, and generally … <em>fresh</em>. Listen to Disc 2 first, then come back to Disc 1 with completely new ears for this album you know so well.

No? Oh all right then …

THE ALBUM

Disc 1 of this set starts off with some false advertising: it’s billed as the “original” album, but it’s not: the original vinyl release in 1972 contained nine songs. The CD version, first released in 1984, inserted the pre-album hit single “Virginia Plain” between “If There is Something” and another popular song, “2 H.B.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the first disc here exactly matches the first CD version, but it’s not the “original” release, is it? And yes, there’s more quibbles to come!

On to my second (minor) gripe: the version used on CD1 here is in fact 1999 remastered edition, which was cleaner and brighter than the original 1984 CD issue. I would kind of liked to have had a Stephen Wilson stereo remix instead — which exists, but isn’t present in this box set.

Most people who would buy this deluxe edition likely already have or had the ’99 remastered version, and the technology has moved on considerably in the last 25 years. Using the 2.1 Stephen Wilson version would have given most buyers something “new” there – if you’re not going to give us the 1984 original CD version – and it would been a thoughtful gesture for those lacking the equipment to properly play back the DVD’s 5.1 SW mix.

Still, for those who bought (and still have) the original CD on first issue, the ’99 remaster is clearly the superior version of the CD.

The single sleeve disc’s front cover does, of course, faithfully preserves the original eye-catching outer cover, while the back lists the album’s contents, players, and production personnel. Thankfully, the “art book” portion of the presentation gives us gatefold’s original interior art, with more information about the band and songs — at the same size as the original LP release.

If you’re reading this, you are very likely to have heard Roxy’s debut album already, so we’ll stick mostly to my refreshed impressions, listening to it again after a few years’ gap from my last listen; we’ll get into more detail once we move on to the discs with the previously rare-or-unreleased material.

Re-Make/Re-Model: the short silence (six seconds) before the crowd noise, which we get for another few seconds followed by a sharp cut and Ferry’s piano, then Thompson’s drum start and the band joining fully just two seconds later … what a way to announce “this isn’t your typical band.” While the bass and drum hold down the basic rhytms, guitar and sax go wild in almost jazz-like improv, with short bursts of Ferry’s vocal, and the band backing him by reciting a license plate number between verses.

There’s no chorus (apart from, I suppose, the license plate thing), and the long instrumental section is like nothing else: a bit of the full band, then a suddent stop and breakout spot by each instrument that feels very on-the-spot improvised, as if the direction given was “you get a five-second solo. Go!”

First drums, then a cheeky bass rip-off of The Beatles’ “Day Tripper” riff, then Eno’s sputting screech noise box, then a shot of sax that flows right back into the music stream, ditto with the guitar, and finally some madcap piano, one last drum break, and then all of them at the same time for a bit before it falls apart and winds down. The way the weird synth noises snake through the deteriorating band and finally signals the end.

By this point, the listener in 1972 must have been wondering what planet these guys were from. What an opening number! After all these years, I still say “wow.” This is just as fresh and wild as it was the day it was released … and there’s not a lot of 1972 albums you could possibly say that about.

Ladytron: With barely time to take a breath, we take another short break of seeming silence (about four seconds) before we begin to perceive a soft electronic bed emulating wind, with an oboe softly winding its way around a melody, accompanied by synth sound effects kind of emulating a lonely wind. The oboe part partially repeats, then Ferry comes in with “You’ve got me girl on the runaround, runaround/Got me all around town/You’ve got me girl on the runaround/And it’s gettin’ me down, gettin’ me down,” as the bass moves in ahead of the full band coming in fully.

Naturally, you get absolutely no clue as to why the song is called “Ladytron,” and the song about a ladykiller gent playing cat-and-mouse with his latest target. After the first full verse, we again take a break to highlight a fabulous echo-drenched oboe. Ferry returns, now double-tracked, and we get that first taste of Ferry’s famous warble.

Without changing the tempo, the furious drums return with fast bass, horns and guitars double-tracked guitars, piano trying to keep up, shakers and the kitchen sink thrown in for good measure. Imagine Elton John playing “Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting” with his full band, and all of them having a nervous breakdown – with Brian Eno aggravating matters – as the instrumental break just floats off into the sunset after a minute, and the song is over.

These first two tracks firmly established that this music was something new to the world of the early 70s, acknowledging influences of jazz, soul, and rock while melding it together into Dali-esque impossible structures and jams, where the singer was not the focus but still riveting when he did appear. Vocals were just another instrument, occasionally contributing something that might sound like a lyric, or words intended more for texture, and then step aside to let the band show off.

If There is Something: The above is what makes the third track all the more confusing: after two incredible tracks, suddenly Roxy Music becomes a country-rock bar band (?!). Something about Ferry wanting to settle down with a young girl and grow potatoes, showing off his vocal quaver — and with nothing for Eno to do until halfway through, then mutating the song into a slow jam?

It’s a little portent of the second half, and while it’s not bad at all, it’s certainly a letdown from the first two killer tracks. Okay, there’s an argument to be made that after two (for the time) bizarre tracks, you might want to give the listener something akin to music they’ve heard before, and I get that.

It’s not until Eno’s synth counter-melody, though, that “Something” reverts to the kind of interesting and non-mainstream sound it has been cultivating so far. Thanks to the sinister undertone of the song after its initial riffs and Eno’s contribution, I can see why Bowie’s Tin Machine wanted to take a stab at it … but frankly, I think Bowie did a better job with it.

Virginia Plain: As “Something” meanders off, the first single pulls up in a new sports car with style and energy to spare, thanks to its playful lyrics: “You’re so sheer, you’re so chic/Teenage rebel of the week” is just a sample of the joy that permeates this song. Wrap it around another fast-tempo’d melody featuring frantic piano and drumming, steady bass with schizophrenic horn, and a motorcycle taking off for good measure. This track is a solid-gold winner, with a brilliantly-framed synth coda before the final lyric, which beautifully brings the song to a flying stop. It was an obvious choice for the first single.

Spoiler! This is the new official music video for “Virginia Plain,” taken from the bonus DVD in the box set.

2 H.B.: This is followed (finally) by a breather, a somewhat-gentler tribute to Humphrey Bogart. Ferry puts on an even thicker Ferry-esque style for this one, which includes a nice long multitracked sax-oboe instrumental break.

The chorus of “Here’s looking at you, kid” ties back to the title so nicely and the repeated line of “failing me never” which fades off as the instruments retreat is a lovely finish. On the original vinyl, that concluded a pretty much all-star Side One.

The Bob (Medley): Now we start off back in ominous synth town for a bit before the band comes in and disrupts whatever mood the opening was going for. It’s like a parody of the indulgent slogs that The Grateful Dead put out, meandering from one musical idea to another with little connective tissue.

We’re clearly in for a rougher ride on the second side, kids. It’s not until the middle of the piece and all the gunfire that you get the idea its about war (specifically, the Battle of Britain). It’s like a notebook of barely-started lyrical and musical ideas, poorly glued together.

Chance Meeting: We transition away from “The Bob”’s car wreck with a slow, beat-less piano-and-guitar first verse, which describes exactly that happening. During the instrumental break, the bass is allowed back in the room for a bit before it quickly fades out.

Would You Believe: Just when you think the second half is going to be the (almost) “all filler” counterpoint to Act I’s “all killer,” this track finally gets us back to the Roxy we thought we were getting based on side A. The soft, falsetto, double tracked Ferry starts off with a ballad verse, then the band breaks out with a 50s-styled main tune, the band shows off their sax-and-piano chops before Ferry returns to his crooning.

It comes off like a real tribute to the kind of music they grew up listening to, and it’s the highlight of the second half.

Sea Breezes: Following that, the next song literally opens with the sound of (synthesized) crashing waves, and then Ferry crosses fully into Tiny Tim territory with his delivery; we’re just missing a ukulele here to complete the effect in this very quiet number. There was so much energy and verve on the first half of the album, listeners might be wondering what the hell happened to the band when they recorded the second side.

Just in the nick of time, however, the second part of “Sea Breezes” sees the return of Ferry’s normal singing voice, far better lyrics, and some lovely contrasting instruments in our left and right ears, which is a fun effect. Sadly, then the finale of the song reverts to the catatonic style that is so inert you want to check the band’s collective pulse, complete with the return of the falsetto. The band seems to have something of a schizophrenic personality.

Bitters End: While maintaining a barely-above-ballad tempo, “Bitters End” returns to the tribute 50-style doo-wop number with a dropped in crowd effect, and works well. Given the lack of pulse present in most of the second side, it was very wise to finish with this number.

It’s Noel Coward as a 50’s ballad, and I do particularly love the occasional background chorus of “Bizarre” to frame Ferry’s amusing lyrics. Once again, a sudden change-up (in this case, Ferry reverting to his lower register) to a sudden stop makes this clever homage into a strong ending for a mostly-disappointing second part.

THE VERDICT

Like Longfellow’s little girl who had a little curl, when this is good it is very, very good, and great respect is earned for continuing to sound so contemporary after more than 50 years since its release … but to rewrite the poet a little bit, when it is bad it is somewhat disappointing.

Few are the albums that can maintain a consistently great standard across 10 tracks, and Ferry’s love of slower ballads will eventually pay off in later albums. But in this case, the flip side just seems laboured and leaden most of the time, or maybe I just don’t have enough of an appreciation for languid love songs. I think it’s fair to say that Roxy Music’s debut is strong, but uneven.

Next time: Demos and Out-takes!

Posted on by chasinvictoria

Roxy Music – Roxy Music (box set) – Box & Book

Virgin/EMI Records, 1972/2018
3CD + 1 DVD, book

THE PROLOGUE

Although Roxy Music as we know it began in 1970, it was two further years before the concept became a recording act, providing evidence of what they were up to in the form of their debut album. For this super deluxe box set, founder Bryan Ferry emptied his vaults for material well beyond the original album, including the early demos, album out-takes, radio sessions, and a DVD of mostly short television appearances, capped (on the DVD) by a new 5.1 DTS and Dolby AC3 mix of the album by Steven Wilson.

Billed as a 45-anniversary deluxe box set — even though it actually came out a year late, in 2018 — this weighty box includes three CDs and one DVD, the latter of which contains both visual and audio-only information (more on that later).

Where the weight gets put on is in the incorporated 136-page book documenting the band’s formation by The Guardian journalist and author Richard Williams, who first wrote about the group for the music paper Melody Maker in 1971. It features a plethora of previously rare or unpublished photos from those early days, along with a Ferry-approved essay on the founding and early days of the band. Everything is on a heavy stock glossy paper, surrounded by a glossy, high-grade cover.

We’ll begin our examination with the packaging and book before diving into the music. The set’s presentation, from the outside, suggests that you might be buying a five-disc vinyl box set and/or a coffee-table art book of the sort you find in museums, but thankfully this hefty tome devotes itself as much to sound as to vision. While there’s no vinyl to be found here, there are three CDs, 1 DVD, and the book on to very pleasurably work your way through.

THE BOX AND THE BOOK

The box is a three-sided slipcase box for the book, and the discs are tucked away in individual sleeves in the back of the book. The box reproduces the cover of the book, which in turn is a recreation the outside cover of the album. On the back of the box is a “removable” — if one is patient and careful — spot-glued paper outsert that shows the band logo, a brief blurb explaining the contents, the covers of the four discs in miniature, and the contents of each one.

This is the only spot on the outside where you will see all the requisite industry logos for the material inside, including the DVD logo, the all-region logo, and a couple of others. Given how radical a departure this album was from the mainstream in 1972, that “exempt from classification” MPAA “E” logo feels very appropriate.

The sound recording and other copyright logos and text are first seen on the stuck-on paper, as well as discreetly placed on the bottom of the slipcase. If one chooses to remove the paper to appreciate the full cover reproduction, the legally-required info is still there — a classy touch.

As packaged, the book spine is showing on the “open” side of the outer box, reproducing the gatefold spine. This of course means that as you pull the book out, you’ll be seeing Kari-Ann Muller’s lower leg and the gold record side of the cover.

If there’s one thing you can count on from a Bryan Ferry-led project, it’s that it should look, feel, and sound like no expense was spared, and that it is an important release. There’s only so much you can do to make a CD or vinyl album into a luxury item — though in the 70s, making it a gatefold album design was one sure way of transmitting that feel to the buyer, and indeed this debut album got the gatefold treatment in its original release.

The inside front and back cover and first and last endsheets showcase film positives of the many alternate takes and poses of Ms. Muller. There’s a title page with just the band’s logo, of course, and then the essay begins on the following page with yet another reproduction of the iconic cover.

A few of the many, many, many alternate images from the cover photoshoot.

Within the first few paragraphs, we learn that the two-tone Roxy Music logo uses a blue and pink that exactly matches the shade of Muller’s eye shadow and lipstick — again a mark of a premium product and that the carefully-constructed image with Muller’s “sultry” gaze was “an explicit taunt to the new rock establishment” that had come to dominate the form in the late 1960s.

Author Richard Williams notes that Elvis Presley had used a similarly bold two-tone logo and provocative photo for his debut album in 1956, and that eight years later, the Rolling Stones used an “unheard of” at the time stark photo with no text other than the Decca logo on the cover — another daring move for a debut album.

Eight years after that, Roxy Music made used the provocative and daring swimsuit-clad Muller, in a “glamour” type shot in a wraparound style, as their attention-grabbing debut cover. Compared to most the album covers of the time, Roxy’s cover was bold and wildly sexy for the time: “a signpost to a future of exotic promise,” as the essay describes it.

The book is a collaborative effort between Ferry, Wilson, Puxley, and a small army of mostly-uncredited photographers, although Ferry himself is among them (his are likely the photos of the other band members in rehearsal rooms). Without delving much into specifics and glossing over any conflicts, it outlines the history of the band, starting with Ferry’s idea for it, with his friend Graham Simpson providing some musical foundation, and the process of recruiting the others — including some, like Roger Bunn and Dexter Lloyd, who didn’t last past the demo tape.

Andy Mackay was an early addition who made the grade, though, and he was the one who the world must thank for bringing in Brian Eno. Eno was initially brought in to play Andy’s synthesizer and mix the sound, meaning he would be at the mixing desk rather than onstage with the band. The group rehearsed at the home of Ferry’s girlfriend Susie Cussins, to whom the first album is dedicated.

Phil Manzerera had been part of that round of auditions, but had been passed over initially, and then called back when Ferry’s first choice — David O’List — eventually didn’t pan out. O’List went on to a fairly illustrious career playing with a bunch of bands, including The Nice, Jet, Jethro Tull, Pink Floyd and others. He has two solo albums out in the 21st century.

Davy O’List’s prior band, The Attack, from 1966. He’s the curly-haired chap.

By May 1971, “Roxy” was finally deemed ready to cut a demo to shop to record labels. Ironically, the big obstacle with the first round of record companies didn’t turn out to be the band — it was Ferry.

His singing was very out-of-fashion for the rock of the time, with a mannered upper-class style and sort of anguished general tone, as if he is straining to not just say the lines rather than sing them. No hint of blues or soul style could be detected, and he had a rather fey quavering falsetto that was sparingly used.

That first demo tape, which we’ll get to hear on Disc 2, is all pre-Eno, and mostly features the “Mark 1” version of the band, with the early musicians and rougher sketches of the songs they would become, some with different titles.

They had to change the name to “Roxy Music” since there was already a band named “Roxy” in the US. The demo helped solidify the band, specifically helping attract Paul Thompson as the new (and permanent) drummer, replacing Lloyd, and of course eventually adding the mystery ingredient that was Brian Eno and his cutting-edge electronic wizardry.

This lineup, and a dash of glam and glitter and sequins all over the place, got them invited to a lot of events. Eventually, they met the legendary DJ John Peel, who had heard the demo. With the help of John Walters, Peel’s producer, they got a couple of live guest spots on Peel’s popular radio show.

This got them the thing they needed most: some positive press in the mainstream and music papers. From there, everything started to fall into place, and the band we know and love was cemented and offered the chance to make an album.

The essay itself is peppered with early images, and after the words we get many pages of more photos from live gigs and in the studio, some candid shots and a handful of formal pics. Even in these, we see also the band’s visual sense: Ferry’s formality, Eno’s glitter bombing, Mackay’s sequins, Manzanera’s bizarre eyewear. Thompson, who occasionally favored leopard-print and caveman-type clothing when he wasn’t shirtless but for a sequined vest, was the least-photographed member in these as he’s always in the back, of course.

This is followed by pages of lyrics (accompanied by more photos), the typewritten original lyric sheets (with a few scratch-throughs and notes), a page of quotes reflecting on the album by Ferry, a few pages of Puxley’s eccentric descriptions of the songs and key lyrical phrases, a few more pages of Keri-Ann photos including one in a completely different outfit).

This goes on to show images of the master-tape boxes, early press releases and bios, many pictures from the Lincoln Festival in May of ’72 (their first festival show), the UK tour of ’72 program book cover and dates (with a few photos), a brief tour diary, an ad for the album, a montage of small venue notices, want ads the band took out looking for a drummer and guitarist (“for avant-rock group”, single covers and posters from various countries, newspaper notices (mostly positive, but a few not quite complimentary), the US tour listing, and — finally — big colour pictures and stills from TV appearances, and the US and UK shows.

L-R: Mazenera, Ferry, Mackay, Eno, Rik Kenton (who replaced Graham Simpson for the first tour), Thompson

The book wraps with a two-page spread of the CD covers and their contents, a page of credits for the book, the CDs and some of the photos, and another page of Keri-Ann outtakes.

Next time: Disc 1 — the “original” album!