There are some albums that define a state of mind. This is one of them. It is beautiful, ugly, twisted, juvenile, conceptually brilliant, and an absolute mess. It had no business being made, and even less being released. Skip Spence was obviously certifiable when he recorded this album, and my question is: why does this particular brand of insanity have the legs it does? I mean, it’s been re-issued with bonus tracks, just like a Simon and Garfunkel album! I can understand Roky and Syd, I can understand Big Star Third, some days I can even understand “Self Portrait” but I’ll never understand the spell this album must have had on otherwise smart, business-minded record company types. Somebody actually PAID for this. More than once! It reminds me of the Arlo Guthrie bit about the “last guy” in America still being able to get attention. This is the album made by that “last guy”.
I love this album. As far as I’m concerned the whole thing is one big keeper, but not in the same way that “Pet Sounds” is. Every song on “Pet Sounds” is its own entity, while each song on “Oar” is just a facet of some horribly disfigured gem. I’m listing one arbitrary song as a keeper because “Oar” needs to be represented in the pantheon, but I can pretty much guarantee that once you’ve heard this train wreck of an album (and fall under its spell) you will agree that the fractured whole of it has little to do with the sum of its parts.
Keepers:
Little Hands
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