"This is the worst band I've ever seen in my life!" -- Simon Napier-Bell, Yardbirds Svengali and soon-to-be manager of John's Children
Nestled high atop Thee 60's Anglophile Collector Scum Want List dwells the original recordings of John's Children. Why is anybody's guess, but undoubtedly Marc Bolan's brief membership has plenty to do with it. They are quite easily the most inept band with 340 reissues to their credit, this I cannot deny; truth is, when they entered a studio, they were seldom allowed to so much as look at their instruments (Jeff Beck is rumored to have filled in for guitarist Geoff McClelland on more'n one occasion). Vocalist Andy Ellison himself admits in the liners that "we only recorded three songs using two-and-a-half chords." In fact, the shambling "Remember Thomas A. Beckett" and "Come & Play With Me in the Garden" are interchangeable-- both are nothing more than shameless Small Faces "liberations" (Read: Outright Theft)-- of the same fucking song (I'll leave you the fun of figgerin' out which one)!
Yet I verbally slay because I love. Though they may not deserve their exalted status in the Freakbeat Hall of Fame, there be enough meat tacked to the ribs of their skeletal creations to make 'em worthy of the enjoyment of all and sundry. For example, Bolan's "Desdemona," which slobberingly pleads for its subject to "lift up your skirt and fly," is a decent slice of Who-derived, Mod power-chord slashing featuring their soon-to-be most famous member exercising his Goat Larynx on backing bleating. On "Midsummer Nights Scene," their none-too-nimble fingers failing to ignite a fire under the Hobbit to make 'im dance is as charming as it is hopeless-- fun, but nothing you'd trade your copy of Tomorrow's eponymous LP for. The ditty which gives this compilation its title is perhaps their best known number, and for good reason-- not only is it the closest they'd ever come to approaching genuine song-craft, it could almost be passed off as a very good Creation outtake (look around for Halo of Flies' excellent rendition). It unquestionably is the best song ever written about suffering a migraine headache, if nothing else.
So... if well-coiffed dudes haphazardly bashin' away on their barely tuned instruments is yer bag, get Thee to the comments.
