The inner sleeve to Bloodrock's last album Whirlwind Tongues concludes with the line, 'good luck everyone' placed after the fan mail PO box, directly before the Capitol logo. 'Good luck everyone'? It sounds so... terse. Ominous even. Who is saying 'good luck' and to whom? Then, another mystery. Why are the lyrics to the LP's last track left off the sheet?... It's as if Capitol was pulling the plug right as the record was being pressed...

Rick Cobb (in conversation, August 31 2003) recalls the pressure facing the second lineup:

We were always looking over our shoulder after the regrouping. I don't remember ever meeting an executive from Capitol Records after the original group had its initial grace period in the early '70s. Sales and group image and the 'new' sound were constantly under scrutiny... I think we all knew we were on borrowed time with the new group. There was an uneasiness and a kind of forced comfort zone that never really felt legitimate.

Rick Cobb (with Bloodrock) during a Capitol showcase for the executives, late 1973.
The impendinding crisis with Capitol is suggested by Bloodrock's departure
from Hollywood to Dallas for the second half of the Whirlwind Tongues sessions.

The music on Whirlwind Tongues was ambitious, original and intelligent - and the marketplace burned them for it.

That said, this is still 'the album that came after Passage.' Perhaps it was the distinct identity of each tune (resisting the earlier record's continuity), or that Hill traded in his powerful Hammond B-3 signature for the newfangled ARP 2600, or that Grundy (assuming the producer's role from Passage producer Peter Granet halfway through the sessions) choose to supplant the earlier live-in-the-studio intimacy for the processed high-fidelity of direct-input technique. There is a hint of Abbey Road's easy-listening maturity, and sonic artificiality, on this record. The tragic phantom of the disintegrating, twilight-period Beach Boys is also lurking in this set's eclectic preciousness. Maybe Whirlwind Tongues simply reflects the anticlimatic ambiguity of the whole post-Vietnam / Watergate era.

Then again, maybe it was the departure of Rick Cobb (with his edgy lyrics) half-way through the sessions...

As he (in conversation, July 3 2003 and January 30 2004) put it:

I was no longer the type of drummer they wanted for their highly controlled faux-jazz material. We all got to stretch as musicians when we changed personnel. Tricky time signatures and an escape from 'DOA' was very necessary for our mental health. But they needed a disciplined time keeper and session employee for the new stuff. I have never listened to any of the [subsequent ] material [recorded with replacement drummer Randy Reeder]. Well, actually I did hear some on the internet and it was too fucking effeminate for me. Just stripped of manliness. (After I left, lyrics became the domain of Warren, with some help from Steve. I have never listened to the third and final ['new direction'] Bloodrock album, but I am sure the words were all probably very saccharine sweet, and had something to do with 'ladies' and 'love.') Warren and Stevie were pretty decent musicians but really really sucked as leaders of men. Too delicate and prissy. It was easy to rebel against their takeover. So, although I have spoken to Grundy on several occasions over the years, I have spoken to Stevie only once on the phone. It was very pleasant but I would be fibbing if I pretended not to resent being kicked out. However, I respect him to this day.

A synopsis:

'It's Gonna be Love' (featuring the first performing appearance of Warren's brother, Bill Ham, on a Bloodrock record) sounds like standard escapist AM fare - at least on the lyric sheet ('We have love on the way, I don't know what to say') - which is probably Bloodrock's most shocking move since ... 'DOA'; the very inverse. And from an undiscerning distance it even sounds like the Average White Band - bubbling ARP, cosmopolitan guitars, Vegas crooning. Embryonic disco? No, on closer inspection it's brittle and twisted; most of the tune resembles the suspended tension of a song's intro, only for the entire song, while the solo in the middle resembles a fadeout section without the fadeout. And those indeterminate beats - it's Captain Beefheart meets the plastic pop heard in the record shop of Clockwork Orange.

The next track, 'Sunday Song' starts out all vamping harmonica and shoo-be-doo-be-groovy bassline (thickened outrageously by piano) while Ham throws around one-liners like 'Hey baby, what's happening!' Cobb's lyrics unfold over dulcet tones reminiscent of Boz Scaggs: 'I should get myself out of bed... Work is hard and I need a break...' It's a backyard ditty, hummed absentmindedly from a hammock under suburban skies. The bassline riff expands into a polished little scat - very polished; this is suburbia - while backing vocals invoke a choir of American dads trying to shake off the quotidian grind with their weekend papers and untrammeled reveries. Then, with a simple chord change, the singer bursts into effortless inspiration:

Weeks from now I would like to be
Chasing white marlin across the sea;
Let the sun pour down on my face;
With dreams so strong
They will replace my Sunday Song.
(Pub. 1973 Bloodrock Music)

Presto - the track goes from a James Taylor throwaway to ... a (late) Brian Wilson masterpiece.

Up next is 'Parallax,' a tight careening ride through classic '70s fusion. The intro is a splashing palette of free chops, the 5/4 riffing is tricky and swift, and the economical verses give Ham plenty of room to launch outrageous falsettos on top of gruff guitar chords. The middle eight offers respite with perfect postmodern lounge and Hill's solo, at turns tough and fluid, provides a penultimate turn on Hammond B-3. Throughout the many melodic and rhythmic turns, Ham binds the performance with nimble, impassioned flute playing.

Warren Ham performing with Bloodrock.

It's back to pop with 'Voices' - new wave, actually. This is probably the greatest Rundgren / Utopia song never recorded - certainly, it's Warren Ham's finest singing moment with Bloodrock. The primary riff, an ingenious weaving guitar pattern (written by Taylor), is a mini-song itself, upon which bassist Grundy layers an uncanny counter-pattern while Hill builds suspense with digital feedback. Cut dramatically to a laid-back rocker (composed primarily by Ham) with heavenly soul vocals grounded by cowbell. 'Well I find that I've run out of choices but I still hear the call of the voices,' he sings (perhaps commenting on the pressure Bloodrock faced at that point). Further on, an oscillating ARP solo over a pounding two-chord riff (recalling the former heaviness) and a demure a capella section returns it right back to its center - that intricate, obsessive riff.

Side one closes with 'Eleanor Rigby.' That's right: 'Eleanor Rigby,' the ultimate 'pop standard' black hole capable of devouring a respectable artist - say, Tony Bennett or Aretha Franklin - in a single gulp. The only act (of the era) which survived the endeavor was Vanilla Fudge - merely because they inflicted as much damage to the song as they received. Bloodrock's version raises the bar. The band, wisely enough, brings enough of their own music (inventive new intro, chords and riffs) to approach the song on an equal footing. The playing - twangy guitar, flute and acoustic piano over bass and drums - is deft, the production is bright and Ham's vocal retains the crisp understatement of the original.

Steve Hill recalls the song (June 6 2003):

The 'Eleanor Rigby' arrangement (which came from the Ham brothers) sounded pretty decent live and was got a good reaction out of the audiences.

Next up, 'Whirlwind Tongues,' is a Watergate meditation, observing a creative public silenced by the interminable chatter of 'politicians twirling on each other's thumbs.' Cobb's lyrics are narrated in the stately ballad style of 'John Barleycorn' - acoustic guitar, flute, hand cymbal. The real treat, though, is the solo section (the most extended on this LP) in the cubist style of Deodato - featuring a cool 'outside' turn by Hill on Rhodes, scat singing along.

* Steve Hill at the Whirlwind Tongues sessions
Capitol Studio A, Hollywood California.

Rick Cobb (February 3 2004) describes the composition's lyrics:

This was my swansong. I was trying for something with a bit more political bite. The result was an awkward rhyme scheme that introduced too many unrelated questions but was thankfully rescued at the last minute by perhaps the best concluding lyric 'hook' I ever composed: 'all these people have been stilled by whirlwind tongues.' This was one of those moments where words and music merged perfectly to produce a memorable phrase. In all honesty, however, the verses were definitely thrown together after this main phrase was composed and they spent the entire song trying to catch up and make sense with a superior chorus. This is a backwards and lazy approach to story development, hence the discontinuity.

This was a song about propaganda and deceit. And it was a song about becoming fatigued with my own growing discontentment. It pointed fingers at others but I was talking to myself. Plus, it maintained a smattering of unsophisticated arrogance, as people with a pulpit often demonstrate. And to this day I don't know who decided to make that song title the Album Title. It was a real privilege and enduring compliment to have it showcased. The fact that I had become influential (or perhaps a nuisance) in the conceptual and thematic direction of both Passage and Whirlwind Tongues was dramatically undercut by my departure from the band. This is indeed something I have come to realize by contributing to this biography of the group.

My drumming by this album was much lighter because the material required such an adjustment. And by this time I had said and done just about everything I was supposed to do with Bloodrock. I was proud of my words and proud of my involvement with this unusual and still perplexing cast of characters from Texas.

The following tune, 'Guess What I Am,' also features the last of Cobb's drum work and poetry for Bloodrock. And what a track, a shimmering pop ballad bristling with uncompromising intelligence. A few piano chords introduce a melody redolent of vintage Broadway. Ham belts it out with the bravado of Nilsson. The words, however, are warped a few degrees left of Hammerstein:

All clocks have been stopped
The mainspring is waiting on word from repair;
All ports have been blocked
Everyone's combing their hair -
(Pub. 1973 Bloodrock Music)

With big George Martin-style strings (arranged by Bill Ham) kicking in halfway through, it's perverse melodrama. A bit less imagination it might have been McCartney, and a bit - well, maybe a lot - more bombast, it might have been Queen. Alas, Bloodrock was deprived a proper radio monster solely due to ... good taste. Imagine that! 'Guess What I Am'? One of the great sunken treasures of the '70s. (Capitol edited the track for a projected 45 release before abandoning the idea.)

Bill Ham recalls the session (in conversation, July 16 2004):

The orchestra arrangement for 'Guess What I Am' remains one of my proudest moments. Sid Sharp [whose work ranges from Nancy Sinatra to Frank Zappa] conducted that.

* Bill Ham at the Whirlwind Tongues sessions
Capitol Studio A, Hollywood California.

Steve Hill adds (in conversation, January 1 2004):

Those were the days. We just told Capitol we needed strings - and the score was going to be written by someone who had never even done a score before. They were sent right over. It was an all-nighter, we finished the session by the morning. Bill was great - he wrote it all out for the eight players and then conducted it. There was only one note wrong, I believe, a half-step; the orchestra just crossed it out (there was some rule against copying the sheet music), wrote the right one in and played it out from there.

Rick Cobb elaborates (in conversation, February 3 2004):

Bill Ham was a great guitarist and wrote the orchestra arrangement for 'Guess What I Am.' Steve was writing the music while Warren was still acclimating to the group (if I remember correctly), so I got to have the first shot at writing the lyrics. I believe even from the inception this song was meant to be a larger work with orchestra.

I followed a certain intuitive set of procedures when writing lyrics: the music always came first and it always set the tone, weight, temperament, thematic direction and general ambiance for the words. I had faith in my natural instincts to be musical and thoughtful at the same time. That is, it was always necessary to contour a melody line to the contour of words.

There was a certain lilt and lightness to much of Steve's music that required a lyric equivalent. Thus, there is a kind of airy, whimsical, anti-Bloodrock sentimentality to the words. I'm not sure I succeeded, but this song needed a 'give-us-a-break' plea with our audience, a kind of over-arching new credo that gave us permission to be somebody else. It wasn't an anthem really, but it was an exemplar of hidden future ambitions. It also expressed a camaraderie of will and determination among the guys to succeed at this continuing transition into a different band: 'look to see what (we) become a worldly spec in this ole town.' We even entertained a flight of fancy that we were pioneers of a sort: a band applying the brakes to a reasonably defined style and taking a 180 degree turn to reclaim an artistic license owned by Capitol Records and our audience.

Okay, in the recording of this song at Capitol Records Studio A in Hollywood where the Beach Boys, Beatles and Frank Sinatra (and many more) all recorded various song material over the years, we recorded the basic track and then days later watched a live session orchestra play (overdub) on top of the basic track. The pressure had been intense for me (as the drummer) to follow a click track during basic recording. I hated click tracks. I was from the self-taught school of rock drumming and the sound of a meek, authoritarian little sine wave dictating and usurping my role as beat-keeper did not sit well with me (this ambivalent and stubborn refusal to tow the line of tempo and politeness eventually got me fired from the band). But when a large orchestra is going to follow your tempo, you need to provide a very disciplined and steady guideline. After many frustrating takes and reprimands from the orchestra master, I finally nailed the precocious little drum lick he had thought of all by himself in his pretty little head. And then it proceeds to get buried in the final production mix of the track.

In retrospect, it's so easy for me to be overly cynical and critical of damn near everything we did. But when I remember to be generous with myself (and others), I realize the song was corny and yet very contemporary and impressive for this period of rock music. It is light-hearted and innocent and hopeful. Nothing really too wrong with that. So, maybe, it was an anthem after all.

Equally pleasing, albeit more conventional, is 'Lady of Love' (again featuring the songwriting talents of Bill Ham), the closest Bloodrock ever came to pressing a sunny summer day onto the grooves of a record. The easiest comparison to make is the lazy brilliance of Top 40 Rundgren: thick saxophones, snapping guitars, gleaming keyboards, impeccable crooning - and (at the center of it) facile pop craftsmanship. Placing the solo section at the end of the tune instead of the middle, Hill and Ham takes turns on melodica and whistling, respectively, adding a lovely sliver of weirdness to a timeless dashboard sound. Throughout, Grundy supplies a groovy warm bass pulse.

* Ed Grundy at the Whirlwind Tongues sessions
January Sound Studios, Dallas Texas.

The last track, 'Jungle,' is an exotica novelty number. Silly storyline, various band members taking turns in 'fowl disguises,' synthesized jungle sounds - and a beguiling melody right out of the 1950s. Whereas prog gods Emerson and Wakeman sought the high-falootin' pomp of Mussorgsky and Bach, Hill was looking towards... Les Baxter - a far hipper choice as it turns out. Speaking of the tune, he told me (May 26 & June 6 2003 and February 15 2004):

I was aware of 'Quiet Village' and Les Baxter. What is weird - somebody pointed this out - 'Jungle' contains all 12 chords between the majors and minors, it covers every note of the musical alphabet. It would have been cool if it was on an album of all that type of material... but today if I'm listening to the album, I usually skip it. Our sound was evolving. I think one of our big goals at the time was to keep changing and try to keep from getting boring. When I was 22, I wanted all kinds of different tracks, I was always pushing not to copy earlier stuff; I might not be so inclined today.

And the omission of the lyrics on the LP sleeve? 'I guess there wasn't room for it,' he mused.

'Good luck everyone.' With Whirlwind Tongues, Bloodrock's career (more or less) imploded.

Rolling Stone, which ignored the previous - and considerably better - album, returned their attentions only long enough to call the record 'schlock' and compare Bloodrock to BJ Thomas (April 11 1974) - an incredibly harsh assesment.

Yet, ever the troopers, Bloodrock began another album (which Capitol ultimately rejected). The band experienced another major change. Nick Taylor quit (replaced by Bill Ham) and Randy Reeder was replaced by (fellow Texan) Matt Betton. The musicianship grew increasingly intricate and professional.

As Steve Hill recalled (in conversation, December 15 2003):

The original Bloodrock wrote and learned songs with chords and riffs; usually someone showed the band a song on the guitar. The later Bloodrock read music, we used notation, we were all musically literate. For example, Matt supplied his own brass charts. It was a different way of making music.

Around this time, Bloodrock released a little-known 45. A new version of 'Thank You Daniel Ellsberg,' complete with fat n' sassy Billy May-style horns pumping up Warren Ham's especially torrid harmonica solo, was paired (sensibly enough) with 'Voices.' (It was the only Bloodrock 45, of eight releases, Capitol did not edit or alter in some way.) It is the only vinyl release which features the final lineup.

According to Steve Hill (in conversation, February 13 2004):

We decided to release it as a single, and to beef it up a little. We were feeling more political due to Watergate - plus we played it on stage a lot since it was written and felt we did it better. It was the last Bloodrock 45.

Chuck Mandernach, who arranged the brass, recalls the session (in conversation, February 19 2004):

I just pulled out a tape of that tune recently after seeing Ellsberg on C-SPAN - it's good. I did the arrangements and got some of my friends, studio players, in on the session. I was a co-owner then of January Sound. Warren had played the harmonica solo and I used part of that for the chart. Bloodrock was an interesting band to work with.

(How unfortunate the One Way CD release of Triptych failed to include this deliciously swingin' salute to the counter-culture.*)

* A few songs recorded between 1972 and 1974 remain unpublished and unreleased. Bill Ham (in conversation, July 16 2004) identified one recorded during Passage, the hard driving 'After All,' as the best track from those sessions: 'In my opinion, the biggest mistake was not releasing "After All" as a single.'

The unfinished album, Bloodrock's most diverse set, holds many surprises - and many rewards.

The most obvious change was the return of a strong guitarist in Bloodrock. The title track and the following cut, 'Afternoon,' demonstrate the Ham brothers as composers of the highest caliber. 'Unspoken Words' offers, with largely acoustic instruments (plus Hill on Mellotron), a pensive and impressionistic dreamscape utilizing a climbing chord progression which suggests the spirituality of Pet Sounds with New Age sounds. Meanwhile, 'Afternoon,' with its sleek, intertwining riffs in (cast primarily in hyper 9/8 time) and Warren Ham's soulful, virtuosic flute performance, recalls the beautiful precision of the Pat Metheny Group. These two tracks represent the pinnacle of Bloodrock's troubled time in the vanguard of '70s music.

Warren Ham modestly recalls these songs (in conversation, December 19 2003):

I only remember that Bill and I co-wrote these songs during the rehearsal days leading up to the last Bloodrock recording. I believe it was at Stevie's farm just outside Arlington, Texas.

Recalling the song, Bill Ham adds (in conversation, July 16 2004):

That was a be-bop sort of thing, it was real different. Warren put the melody over the progression, he's very good at that. Bloodrock even played [the then-unreleased] 'Afternoon' on tour. We were fearless with the repertoire!

On other tracks, Bill Ham shows his stuff as a mad alchemist of the fretboard. His guitar solos on the frantic (7/8) 'Pogo Stick' and the languid 'For The Ladies' are inventive micro-symphonies which lift the compositions much higher than the songwriting elements within. On the latter tune (Nick Taylor's final co-writing credit), Bloodrock really cooks up a sizzling stew of hot chops. In contrast to the vintage jazz tones which adorn Passage Ham brings futuristic fusion to Unspoken Words.

Matt Betton adds vanilla funk - and two compositions - to the mix. The radically syncopated 'Gonna Help You' boasts a disco veneer while the tempos are fiendishly prog. The brassed-up, straight-forward soul of 'The Right Time,' on the other hand, is Top 40ish.

* Matt Betton at the Unspoken Words sessions
January Sound Studios, Dallas Texas.

A cover of Doug Walden's 'Cerberus' (i.e., a three-headed canine monster which guards the entrance into hell) adds drama with cosmic themes, violent rhythms and Hill's noisiest ARP solo.* Warren Ham's blues turn, 'Chicken Fried,' provides a harmonica showcase.

* Doug Walden was vocalist and bassist for the Houston-based group Christopher, which recorded and released one acclaimed LP in 1970.

Steve Hill, meanwhile, contributed one - utterly magnificent - track, the anthemic 'Follow,' his words a steadfast exhortation to:

Follow your heart;
Don't give in to them,
Never hestitate;
Shout you're right
'Til they prove you are wrong -
(Pub. 2000 Shimera Music)

Hill's presence - as composer and soloist - on these sessions, however, is muted compared to the two previous LPs. I asked him why, and he responded (February 15 2004):

The band was more of a democracy at that point. It was more in the jazz tradition. Matt and Bill were more like leaders, they each could front a group - and, as players, they both could really mix it up.

And this lineup especially mixed it up on the road. The addition of Matt Betton and Bill Ham toughened up the Passage and Whirlwind Tongues material. 'DOA,' performed under duress in '73, was again rejected, replaced by a particularly funky - and superior - rendition of 'Song For A Brother.' Best of all, the 1974 Bloodrock turned in smokin' jams of such modern jazz standards as Eric Dolphy's 'Burning Spear' and Eddie Harris' 'Freedom Jazz Dance,' making them their own. Live recordings made by the band demonstrate their restless growth and bold inventiveness in a live milieu - easily surpassing the more conservative studio efforts of the same period.

The fourth-to-last Bloodrock performance
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania
April 8 1974.

Capitol, however, wasn't having any of it; the suits yanked the plug (leaving the Unspoken Words masters in a vault for 30 years; the master to one track is said to have perished). The individual members of Bloodrock dispersed. According to Steve Hill's personal calendar, the last Bloodrock gig transpired on April 14 1974 in Flint Michigan.

Bill Ham recalls the final gigs (in conversation, July 16 2004):

The tours were rough. We drove in a van with no windows and no seats, all you could do was lie down. We were in a constant state of tired irritability. One night, outside Cincinnati, we hit an ice storm and all of us nearly lost our lives on the road. I would not say the tours were a smashing success. Sometimes the audiences were good, sometimes they weren't.

Asked when Bloodrock's crisis become evident, Warren Ham surmised (July 10 2003):

The music business is a crisis in itself. It is just a very difficult business. Yeah I guess it was a blow when Capitol refused to release the last masters.

Despite the dizzying peaks of amazing individual tracks, Whirlwind Tongues and Unspoken Words play unevenly and sound like a band unsure of its direction; these albums are dwarfed by the cool confidence (and continuity) of Passage. Passage is rock, Whirlwind Tongues and Unspoken Words are pop. Significantly, the dread of Vietnam - an important component of every previous Bloodrock record - is audibly absent. A cultural line divides 1972 and 1974 into entirely different musical eras (the former groovy yet militant; the latter chimerical yet complacent) - and no band, wishing to move ahead, could resist the determinist flow. The passage had been completed; the populist battle against the government (the 'generation gap') had been defused. Bloodrock's time had come and gone - right at the moment the muscianship was dramatically evolving.

Bill Ham adds (in conversation, July 16 2004):

That band had a lot of power, a lot of potential - it just got squelched... by destiny.

Almost three decades after it was recorded, (most of) Unspoken Words was released - as bonus tracks on Triptych (the double-CD issue of Passage and Whirlwind Tongues).

Steve Hill gave these details about the previosuly unknown work (in conversation, February 15 2004):

It was called the 'unreleased album' for all those years. The sequence was simply was what on the master in the vault - it wasn't finished. When One Way said they wanted to release it, I called Ed and suggested Unspoken Words.

Asked if it was emotional to see the LP finally get released, Warren Ham responded, 'Yeah, no doubt it was a great feeling.'

Reviewing Triptych in May 2001, Goldmine described Bloodrock as 'one of America's most underrated bands.'

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