The Incredible String Band

whimsical and daft, even by the standards of the time

They made the big time, probably thanks to Joe Boyd, a Boston Brahmin and probable genius, who swung into swinging London in 1964 from the USA, and proceeded to scoop up some of the best names in folk and psychedelia for his uber cool Elektra label. One of his first hits was ‘Arnold Layne’ by Pink Floyd. He later produced a host of the usual suspects, picked from a line up that usually consisted of people from Fairport Convention and Pentangle. From there, the only way was up. He met Robin Williamson and Clive Palmer on the Edinburgh folk circuit. Mike Heron was recruited later and Elektra released the first eponymous album under the name The Incredible String Band.

With the departure of Palmer, who was destined to wander the hippie trail and later to dabble in painting, woodwork and modest, occasional forays into music, the Incredibles were a duo once again.

But the signs and portents were good, despite a fairly muted debut. Bob Dylan, of all people, name checked ‘October Song’ as one of his favourites in an interview of 1968, though by this time, ISB was well on the way to floating on a magic carpet ride to fame. (If not fortune)

They first came under my radar with their second album, The 5000 Spirits or the Layers of the Onion. It just drips with Sixties psychedelica. The cover was drawn by Simon and Marijke - collectively known as The Fool, who were also designing things for Clapton and The Fabs. As a by the way, The Fool made an album of their own, produced by Graham Nash of all people. It’s pretty dire, even by the standards of the acid genre.

But first, we should contextualise. Indeed we must contextualise - it was way back- in fact, way back in the 1960s…

I did not hear 5000 Spirits on an enlightening trip to Rishikesh. I first heard it whilst drinking powdered Nescafe, augmented by a bottle of Spanish ‘Burgundy’ and a packet of cheap fags. In Boston, Bad Acoustics. There was a Baby Belling in the corner. A Vesta Prawn Curry sat uneasily in my stomach. Me and a mate talked about the meaning of life, and girls with bras, and listened sagely to the opening line; the bent twig of darkness… whilst puffing on an Embassy. What was the bent twig of darkness? We badly need to open the doors of perception, but couldn’t find a locksmith. Nescafe would have to do. The anaglypta wallpaper snarled like a snake. The swirly patterned carpet infused the ventricles of our consciousness with its residual odour of latex and ejaculate.

My name is death. “I am the question that cannot be answered.” intoned Williamson. Indeed, it shouldn’t, because then the whole ISB edifice falls apart in a controlled explosion of preposterity, piffle, and a raft of noise making instruments that generally get sold to tourists who go to places without proper lavatories… in search of… the truth, Nirvana, and Donovan.

Let’s just put on one side, for a moment, the embarrassing fact that throughout, Robin Williamson is channeling Rambling Syd Rumpo, both lyrically and vocally:

‘What care I for the city life – all I want is the sky for my coverlet and a bosky turve for my pillow. My only viand’s hedgehog pate washed down with a simple unpretentious paraffin rose.’

Reg Pubes, Reg Pubes
Lend me your great Nog,
Rollock me fussett
And griddle me nodes.

And it didn’t end there.

The Fabs used the influence of Eastern Mysticism to great effect, but they didn’t get carried away. Their visit to the Maharishi inspired some great songs, but not quite in the way you would expect. Paul wrote Back in the USSR after meeting the egregious Mike Love of the Beach Boys at the Rishikesh Ashram. George bought in to it, quite genuinely and usefully, John thought Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was a permanently tumescent fraud and wrote Sexy Sadie as a scathing tribute to the man. Ringo got fed up with it and, desperate for a bacon sarnie, went home early.

The Fabs just about got the measure of it all. ISB didn’t. They fell for whole schtick, just as they later fell for Scientology.

And it didn’t end there.

The next album was The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter. The Bonzo Dog Doodah Band brought out an album called, The Doughnut in Granny’s Greenhouse - with the cover, a barely disguised piss take of Hangman, and by the way, a brilliant album!

So, even in the context of its times, ISB did not fare well in terms of erm…credibility.

"They wanted to be what they weren't and they never knew what they were." (Rose Simpson)

They tried. They really did. There were several efforts at living the communal life in damp, dank farmers cottages near Edinburgh, later encamping at Glen View Lodge in Innerleithen, which as it happens was a gnat’s whisker from where we once lived. The girls joined them - Christina ‘Licorice’ McKechnie gets a credit on Spirits, and Rose Simpson first appears on the cover of Hangman. Life in the commune was, to say the least, chaotic. It was exacerbated by a lack of money. Incredible! Apparently Joe Boyd had them on wages, quite low wages, it appears and at that time the boys were too averse to bread heads to worry Joe about where all the money was going. They sometimes lived on leaves and cereals. It was not a ‘back to nature’ idyll; their first rental was amid an industrial estate. The weather, as you will know if you have ever lived in Scotland, was usually cold, damp and pervasive. The girls were not even on wages. Simpson shared a bank account with Heron, for what it was worth. It may account for their poor dentition; Licorice lost a front tooth and didn’t replace it. Simpson had Ray Reardon-style dracula canines.

Later on a ‘performance troupe’ latched on to the Incredibles and also lived on the commune. Among them was Malcolm Le Maistre, who later went on the become an official band member.

It was during their quite successful early tours in the USA that Williamson, Heron and McKechnie became involved in Scientology. This involved attending courses, reading the literature, and getting Joe to send thousands of dollars to the church on their behalf. Simpson mostly didn’t buy into it, which is the main reason she left the band. That, and being from Yorkshire, and having a fairly realistic take on the entire circus that was ISB. (She later became Lib Dem Mayoress of Aberystwyth.) She still, however, subscribes to a fairly nebulous hippie mindset.

I am not going to say that the music was bad. Far from it. Songs like No Sleep Blues, and The Hedgehog Song are lively and fun. It’s just that after two or three tracks I get an allergic reaction to the highly mannered and I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-Rambling-Syd- Rumpo voices. On Hangman;, “if you answer this riddle, you’ll never begin” - Quite.

The Minotaur’s Song. Does it remind you of another song? Possibly The Pythons’ Lumberjack Song? I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers, I put on women's clothing, and hang around in bars…

Yes it does.

And, like the pants of destiny, ISB gradually crept up the crack of obscurity, overtaken by the silver Audi of mediocrity and the glitter and gauze gallbladder of Glam. Licorice McKechnie vanished, sometime towards the end of the 1980’s. Robin Williamson is currently alive, aged 80 and was still touring with his wife, Bina, right up until this Autumn. I saw him some time in the mid 80s, and it is clear that he was and is a performer of great talent. He is also a fascinating painter. I like his work! Mike Heron lives, aged 81, but appears to have ceased touring.