Here we have a perfect example: a record so incompetent that, upon hearing it, I could feel my mouth dropping open in astonishment. And I KNOW what it is. What would my fictional record store or radio manager think?
And again, this record is on that most mysterious of song-poem labels, Noval.
Noval, with their bizarre credits - listing only the arranger, by first name (in this case, Jay), and the lyricist. The latter habit no doubt would make most people who pick one of these up think that Irene Edwards sang today's first offering (until they heard the male voice, anyway).
And the sound of Noval, with their typical combo of piano, guitar, drums and, right up front, a vibraphone. And I LOVE vibraphones more than almost any instrument except for the marimba. I even love vibraphones on Noval records.
But the end result is nothing short of bewildering - even more so because the singer clearly has not seen the material before singing it (and does a terrifically bad job of sight-reading).
Beyond that, the meandering melody results in a song which sounds more like someone struggling to make up a song, and repeatedly starting over, than it does like a finished product.
I defy any of the musicians out there listening to this to find the patterns of structure, chording or melody that one usually finds in a pop song, anywhere in this record.
Please enjoy my (very temporary) favorite newly heard song-poem, "Special Delivery":
Play:
The flip side, written by Mrs. Ella Brusch, is titled "I Made Excuses", and although it is not as stunningly weird as the other side of the record, it's still a winner: