Blue Öyster Cult • Secret Treaties (Columbia, 1974)

When a mathematically inclined woodland creature admonishes you for your absence, you get writing...

Last night I was wandering around in the near frigid weather with a good friend, N. No Aswang is he, but not unlike the dreaded creature who disembowels it's self from it's lower torso to hunt, N's brain during the evening leaving the constraints of the day behind and is equally free to roam. As we wandered from place to place, he informed me in his inimitable way that perception is 9/10th of everything, and that his original perception of me was someone who is brooding, even slightly mean. But of course he has come to see the error in judgment. Yes, I have a perpetual furrowed brow, but it is just from contemplating how to perform some social operation better...

The same could be said of Blue Oyster Cult. Almost everyone is aware of the later hit singles - Don't Fear The Reaper, Godzilla, or even their somewhat flaccid peon to starlet Joan Crawford. And regretfully due to their ear crushing volume and less than welcoming imagery, they get lumped in with the lowest of Heavy Metal acts - Black Sabbath, et al. This is the disservice of perception. For if one peals away the electric Tod Browning airs, you have one of the more thoughtful loud bands, who by 1974 would unleash a thinking mans Sir Lord Baltimore.

Secret Treaties continues with Richard Meltzer's obscure Science Fiction lyrics from the previous albums, but this time it's welded to histrionic pop hooks and sonic textures. One wonders if there was a conscious effort by the band to adopt the sound of David Bowie, but because they were a bunch of Smarty Pants from Long Island, it comes off as the toughest guys at Creation Convention...Pissed off, the band is looking for Phil Suling, they were suppose to go on after the Red Sonja panel but they have been bumped for the Dr. Strange inkers meet and greet.

There is this wonderful mock villainy at play here, something that the aforementioned Black Sabbath just couldn't pull off. Granted when listening to either 'Sabbath or BOC, everyone most likely is stoned, but with BOC playing on the turntable I doubt the glue sniffers were in the room.

The overt downside to BOC is not being blessed with a band member possessing a great voice. The Jack Bruce school of vocals meets here, but the playing is so lethal and direct you almost welcome it. Without this flaw the band would have been the too imposing, making the music hard to enjoy.

While digging around on line I came across these two fascinating artifacts: BOC in concert with the supporting act Iggy & The Stooges, and then later in 1974 BOC with T.Rex. With the Stooges and T.Rex reaching their nadirs, what those evenings must have been like...

Word must be said to the passing of Ron Ashton. At their worst the Stooges sounded like Yummy Yummy Yummy played by a bunch of high functioning autistics, but at their best - which is often, it's true nihilistic joy. And there was Ashton's guitar giving a quick lesson on the difference between simple and simplistic.


Please click on the review title for selected track: Flaming Telepaths.