More so than ‘Surrealistic Pillow‘ (Jefferson Airplane), ‘Cheap Thrills‘ (Big Brother & the Holding Company), ‘Buffalo Springfield Again‘ or even ‘Pet Sounds‘ by The Beach Boys, ‘FOREVER CHANGES‘ (November 1967) the third release from Los Angeles-based quintet Love, has become the defining album of late-60s West Coast rock.
In terms of esteem it is no less revered than the others (‘Forever Changes‘ undergoes critical renaissance roughly every 15 years and after falling in one all-time ‘Great Album’ list then reappears near the top of another), although regarding sales it is the least successful of those listed. Yet no other record of the era has come to so broadly define the sound of California as the end of the 1960s began to loom, fusing as it does the folk-rock sensibilities of L.A. with the psychedelic overtones of the San Francisco scene.
In blending the pop inflections of Laurel Canyon and forceful electric guitar work of many a Bay-area entity, Love, primarily through the songwriting of central figure, singer/guitarist Arthur Lee, work from a recognisable template. But ‘Forever Changes‘ retains an elusive quality where any number of styles – country, blues, folk, jazz and baroque pop – are thrown into the air without coming down in quite the same fashion, serving to make it a diverse, eclectic collection where no two tracks sound the same.
The elusiveness of this complex record is perhaps best understood through the personal and by extension songwriting standpoint of Lee, a Memphis-born, black resident of Los Angeles leading a successful rock ensemble who had scored a couple of hits. His stream of consciousness lyrics are written from the perspective of an outsider looking in, when they are not that is reflecting on how love, indeed life as a whole, offers no guarantees, change being the only constant of human existence – hence, one is tempted to suggest, why the album has the title it does.
To expand this line of reasoning it is also worth reflecting upon the strained relationship between Elektra Records, to whom they had been signed for the past 18 months and the group – who when they began recording ‘Forever Changes‘ in June 1967 consisted of Lee (guitar/vocals), Bryan MacLean (guitar/vocals), Ken Forssi (bass), Michael Stuart (drums) and John Echols (lead guitar), he like Lee an African-American in making Love the first inter-racial rock band.
Their self-titled debut set of March 1966 sold moderately well and proved an auspicious start to their recording career, the undoubted potential carried over into second album ‘De Capo‘ (November 1966).
This collection contained the hit single ‘Seven and Seven Is‘ but was most notable for its breathtaking ambition, the second side given over to just one track, the 20 minute ‘Revelation‘. While this highly adventurous (and at the time unheard of) example of songcraft was not an altogether successful experiment, it revealed Love to be an outfit who were startling in their innovation.
It did not, however, sell in the quantity of its predecessor, for which the group, in part, blamed Elektra who they felt were now throwing all their promotional resources behind a recently signed act named The Doors, who ironically Lee had recommended to the label.
When Love began formulating plans for a third album there was said to be tacit understanding that Elektra would finance a double-set, allowing significant input from Lee, MacLean and Echols as the three songwriters in the group, their intentions being to incorporate horns and strings into the material. But realising how costly such an endeavour could become, the label offered a compromise of retaining the accoutrements but across a two-sided album only.
In turn this triggered conflict within the band with the upshot of Echols losing all his intended songs and MacLean seeing his contribution reduced to just two. As an act of protest he and bassist Forssi refused to play on a number of cuts, necessitating co-producer Bruce Botnick to enlist members of renowned L.A. session troupe The Wrecking Crew in order to keep the sessions productive – all of which left Lee as chief architect in his capacity of sharing production duties and taking sole writing credit on nine of the eleven tracks.
By way of irony, MacLean is responsible for opening cut ‘Alone Again Or.’ Bold acoustic guitar work, tinged with Latin flourishes, sympathetic strings and an evocative trumpet solo are representative of the diversity about to ensue across the record.
Reportedly written about his mother (a flamenco dancer of some repute), like several tracks on the album a serene melody weaves between sad, disillusioned lyrics, (‘All the times I’ve waited patiently for you/And you’ll do just what you choose to do/And I will be alone again tonight my dear‘).
The tender, at times faltering vocal of the writer, just manages to stay afloat against the lapping tide of sweeping orchestration and Mexican-ambience of the meshing guitars. MacLean broadens his narrative with the amusing observation (‘Somebody said to me/You know that I could be in love with almost everyone/I think that people are the greatest fun‘), while behind him his band-mates, with assistance from the L.A. Philharmonic Orchestra, create the rare sound of a rock group with overtones of a Mariachi band.
With the first of his compositions, Lee immediately creates a darker mood, ‘A House Is Not a Motel‘ setting ominous, highly-charged lyricism to a melody that is folk-rock at its most propulsive.
Starting out as a search for meaning and comment on how personal freedom can be an illusory feeling, (‘At my house I’ve got no shackles/You can come and look if you want to‘), Lee goes on to evoke horrors apparent in the Vietnam War that were a dominant feature of current television and newspaper reports – his hurried vocal, the abrasive electric guitar solo and machine gun evocation from rat-a-tat drumming enforcing a blunt (and in retrospect perceptive) summation of what was occurring in South East Asia:
‘By the time that I’m through singing/The bells from the schools of wars will be ringing/More confusions/Blood transfusions/The news today will be the movies for tomorrow/And the water’s turned to blood.’
Following on from such aggression, ‘Andmoreagain‘ restores a feeling of tranquility, the nimble acoustic guitar playing creates a pastoral backdrop to a piece that while sure-footed in its serenity finds nothing but uncertainty when questioning the state of a personal relationship:
‘And when you’ve given all you had/And everything still turns out/Bad, and all your secrets are your own/Then you feel your heart beating/Thrum, pum, pum, pum.’
Similar in many respects to material former-Byrd Gene Clark had aired on his solo debut album from earlier in the year, both ‘Gene Clark and the Gosdin Brothers‘ (January 1967) and tracks such as this sound detached from the era in which they were crafted, string-laden rock songs as yet to find a commercial base being too abstract for the mainstream.
Meanwhile the possibilities of progressive-folk which Clark and Lee were currently exploring would not become commonplace until sometime later – the influence of Love clearly apparent on the second side of ‘Led Zeppelin III‘ (1970), Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant a known admirer of ‘Forever Changes‘.
Having recently worked with co-producer Botkin on ‘Buffalo Springfield Again‘ – contributing three songs as a guitarist in the group – Neil Young was brought on board to assist in arranging ‘The Daily Planet‘, a track given over to a more recognisable folk-rock arrangement.
Reminiscent of The Byrds in their original incarnation (perhaps not altogether surprising given a number of Wrecking Crew musicians heard here played on several early-Byrd hits), Lee at first sounds disillusioned by the repetition of everyday life, ‘In the morning we arise and/Start the day the same old way/As yesterday the day before‘. He moves on to view the outside world, in this case apparently the Sunset Strip – an L.A. throughfare proving a magnet for counter-culture types – with little in the way of affinity, ‘Down on go-stop boulevard it/Never fails to bring me down/The sirens and the accidents.’
After the chiming acoustic guitars and busy drums of the previous track, the strings make a return on ‘Old Man‘ the second songwriting submission from MacLean.
Above a delicate meandering melody, the writer expresses empathy with a figure from an older generation, his homespun advice serving the recipient well when applying proffered wise words to a romantic attachment:
‘Now it seems/Things are not so strange/I can see more clearly/ Suddenly I’ve found my way/I know the old man would laugh/He spoke of love’s sweeter days/And in his eloquent way/I think he was speaking of you/You are so lovely/You didn’t have to say a thing.’
Taking what is essentially an intricate folk song, in the vein of those Joni Mitchell would write for her ‘Songs to a Seagull‘ debut album of the following year, the track is flavoured with sweeping strings and resonant horns in creating a subtle, if distinct, cut of psychedelic pop.
The title of side one closer ‘The Red Telephone‘ is reference to the means of communication between The White and Kremlin in these times of Cold War paranoia. The track itself is akin to entering the nightmare swirl of cinematic psychedelia, Lee conjuring allusions to nuclear Armageddon (‘Sitting on a hillside/ Watching all the people die‘), although just as meaning appears to be established he inserts notions of reincarnation (‘I’ve been here once/I’ve been here twice‘) and personal liberty (‘They’re locking them up today/They’re throwing away the key/I wonder who it’ll be tomorrow, you or me?’), turning the song into an opaque, if disturbing discourse on how the human race is failing.
In the hands of The Beatles and Brian Wilson, a trilling harpsichord added a lushness to melodicism, but here in conjunction with lines such as ‘Life goes on here/Day after day/I don’t know if I’m living or if I’m supposed to be’ it serves to underline the confusion inherent in Lee’s contemplations.
Punctuated by breezy horns, opening side two cut ‘Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale’ nudges this episode of the album toward refined soul. The actual geography inferred by the title is a length of the Sunset Strip where the Whisky A Go Go rock club was located, this being the venue where Love came to the attention of Elektra who moved quickly to sign them.
Again Lee sets up an evocation of Los Angeles based on the merest detail ‘Crowds of people standing everywhere/’Cross the street I’m at this laugh affair/And here they always play my songs‘, but once more empathy with the hippy scene is in short supply. The Summer of Love while visible all around is given short shrift in the form of a rampaging electric guitar solo and dismissive description, ‘Wrong or right they come here just the same/Telling everyone about their games/And if you think it obsolete/Then you go back across the street.’
As an opening line for a 1967 rock song ‘Oh, the snot has caked against my pants/It has turned into crystal’ Lee conjures all manner of possibilities for where ‘Live and Let Live‘ might run – this layered slice of upbeat folk-pop having more in common with The Kinks than the kaleidoscopic frenzy of a Haight-Asbury acid-rock ensemble.
In regard to where the lyrics actually go boils down to anyone’s guess, Lee in one breath apparently questioning authority, ‘Write the rules/In the sky/But ask your leaders/Why Why‘, although given the title and couplets such as ‘There’s a bluebird sitting on a branch/I guess I’ll take my pistol/I’ve got it in my hand/Because he’s on my land‘ some hear parts of the song as an attack on racist attitudes.
The mood shifts again with ‘The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This‘, the strings and horns again lavish through an introspective piece taking a moment to observe gentle things (‘Summertime’s here and look over there/Flowers everywhere in the morning‘), while the snappy ‘Bummer in the Summer‘ – 1967 the only year where such a title could be used without creating sniggers all round – finds Lee expressing indignation that his relationship with a white woman is provoking the reaction it has, ‘We used to ride around all over town/But they’re puttin’ you down for bein’ around with me.’
Such ire is imparted over Rolling Stones-styled motifs, the core one being their take on ‘Not Fade Away‘ with the electric guitar solo having the same chug along quality of that from Keith Richards on ‘The Last Time’.
With the closing track ‘You Set the Scene‘ Lee gives full license to his experimental objectives, taking almost seven minutes to fully realise all the artistic ambitions he harboured for the record.
Taking its lead from the raga-rock innovations The Byrds had pioneered 12 months before on ‘Eight Miles High‘, the pulsing bass and jazz-infused guitar lines decorate the opening movement that has Lee pitching in with rapid fire answers to his own questioning, ‘You go through changes, it may seem strange/Is this what you’re put here for?/You think you’re happy and you are happy/That’s what you’re happy for.’
The abundant creativity is evident in the more textured middle section after casting light on a dilemma some of his generation faced, ‘There’s a man who can’t decide if he should/Fight for what his father thinks is right‘ in relation to the ongoing conflict in Vietnam.
The arrival of horns and the L.A. Philharmonic string section herald shift to a backdrop lighter in colour, Lee at 26 years of age finding a degree of positivity in his present countenance, ‘This is the time and life that I am living/And I’ll face each day with a smile/For the time that I’ve been given’s such a little while/And the things that I must do consist of more than style‘ – this more cheery outlook reinforced by string and horn arrangements among the most inventive ever heard in a rock context.
With the closing section delivered with brass instruments to the fore, the imagery of a marching band heading off into the distance is not difficult to visualize and given added retrospective irony as this line-up of Love had just recorded together for the last time – Lee firing MacLean, Forrsi and Ware (telling a reporter ‘Those guy’s couldn’t cut it anymore‘), virtually the moment recording was completed.
While The Doors continued in rapid ascendency, their ‘Strange Days‘ album being the primary focus of Elektra during the closing months of 1967, ‘Forever Changes‘ appeared yet barely registered, peaking at a lowly 154 on the U.S. charts.
It was a slightly different story in England where respected BBC DJ John Peel became an early convert (‘Forever Changes‘ not released in Britain until February 1968) and with Jimi Hendrix reputedly extolling its virtue to all who would listen it developed an underground following, resulting in a highest U.K. chart placing of 24.
Down the years curiosity surrounding ‘Forever Changes‘ has been maintained by intermittent high placing on All-Time best album lists (ranked at 11 on one compiled by Mojo magazine in 1996) and while from time to time its appeal has skipped a generation several latter day bands, The Stone Roses for one, have been quick to acclaim the mystical magnificence of a record that questioned the peace and love ethos while operating at the heart of it.
Indeed, Arthur Lee was never more skeptical of those strange times when using a line in ‘The Daily Planet‘ to take the metaphorical and metrological temperature of atmospherics below the fug of 1967 L.A. smog:
‘Repetitious/Waiting on the sun.’
LOVE – FOREVER CHANGES (Released November 1 1967):
Alone Again Or/A House is Not a Motel/Andmoreagain/Old Man/The Red Telephone/Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale/Live and Let Live/The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This/Bummer in the Summer/You Set the Scene;
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