Come one and come all to No Skips, a weekly column where I review the music of olden times and justify why certain albums have no skippable tracks. As promised last week, we’re looking at another case of a magnificent 1970s record that went largely unnoticed until roughly the turn of the century, when people boosted it up in critical circles to land its contemporary glory.
Comus, a six-piece progressive band during the late ‘60s and early ‘70s, released their debut, and what is often considered their only true album, “First Utterance,” in 1971. Though a fragmented version of the original six-piece came back together three years after for “To Keep From Crying,” they didn’t recreate the magic of their first record. Strangely, like Linda Perhacs from last week’s edition of this column, Comus returned in the 2010s with “Out of the Coma,” which couldn’t live up to the band’s prior magic no matter how you spin it.
Whether we’re talking about Mungo Jerry or The Turtles, there are arguably more one-hit wonders originating from the ‘60s and ‘70s than there are now. It’s far easier to churn out music with lukewarm reception and still rack up those streaming numbers these days, even if you’re Desiigner. In the case of Comus, they may have shot themselves in the foot commercially by depicting a very strange fellow on the album’s artwork, and “freak folk” is a term thrown around when describing this record now, though their songs’ long-winded structures are more reminiscent of progressive folk.
Additionally, there are plenty of other reviews that could touch on the concerning subject matter of this record with more grace and productive commentary than I could — so be warned if you delve into the lyrics. However, as we usually do on No Skips, let’s focus more on the music. “Diana” begins our journey with high-pitched vocals — both male and female, as is done throughout the record — and bass and violin that carries the melody. There are multiple solos, with the tribal drum two-and-a-half minutes in a remarkable one, and the vocal chorus is impassioned.
“The Herald” is a blur despite its 12-minute runtime and is what originally turned me onto Comus. Vocalist Bobbie Watson upgrades from backing vocals to being the predominant lead here, and her voice is unimaginably beautiful. It also doesn’t have a dark topic pervading the lyrics like most of the other tracks, so it really is a peaceful song. Moreover, the plucky acoustic guitar played by lead vocalist Roger Wootton takes over after Watson’s singing section, proving how versatile his musical ability is. After the flute and violin ruminate for a while, the cyclical song reengages Watson to repeat the lyrics before she reaches new heights by simply repeating “La-la-la” at a crazy-high octave.
“Drip Drip” builds up to what first seems like a climax, especially with the inflection on “Your stare unchanged,” until the instrumentation fizzles out and the song’s tone changes. The song’s main melody is established, and Wootton grows more manic by the minute. Before long, however, the multi-part track explores that tribal sound once again, with what appears to be mouth sounds and shrieks. Finally, as if nothing happened, the song’s chorus and previous composition come back for the final minute.
“Song to Comus” features uncanny vocals as the last word of multiple lines is echoed by a backup vocalist. While the identity of Comus isn’t explored in great depth, his hedonism and harmful practices are hinted at. It gears up to be the weakest track on the record thus far, though I enjoy the violin abruptly stopping as, who I assume to be Wootton, essentially ad-libs “Ugh.” It’s a little dragged out, but enjoyable all the way through.
“The Bite” begins like a cinematic-sounding jam session until the speed rapidly increases. Everything from the vocals, the acoustic guitar and the frantic violin speed up after some lines. The story the song tells is equally intense, with imagery including “The cell’s dark walls stony and wet / Metallic echoes as the bolts are drawn back” when describing a prison scene. Dare I say the flute work here rivals that of Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull, a prog-rock band who was popping off in the early ‘70s.
“Bitten” is an intentional lull in the track list, one I’d claim is much needed after the up-tempo previous song. It also demonstrates how the fabled “Bite of ‘87” happened in two parts: “the bite,” and the feelings of sadness and anguish after. I’m kidding, but it wouldn’t be surprising for “Five Nights at Freddy’s” lore if William Afton vibed out to this album. There’s not much to talk about the interlude track; it’s just ominous violin mostly.
Oddly, “The Prisoner” doesn’t follow up on the story told in “The Bite.” Rather, the speaker is “at a hospital for the mentally sick,” which during the ‘70s may as well have been a prison if “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” taught us anything. Shouts akin to Exuma, a folk musician from the Bahamas who also peaked in the early ‘70s, are utilized before the final moments of the song see the audio get dumbed down as it alternates between the listener’s left and right channels.
Another progressive music act, Opeth (who has a new album releasing on Nov. 22), gave Comus some attention on their album “First Utterance” with many references to the album throughout their discography, along with Current 93. Although their prime was short-lived, this is one of the best folk albums to have ever released, and if it inspired Opeth, “First Utterance” had a hand in influencing plenty of other top-tier music, so give it a listen!