Egg—The Polite Force (Decca/Esoteric)

Egg’s second album, The Polite Force (1971), saw them maturing on all fronts. They’re far more focused and heavy. The album has only four tracks, with none of the quirky filler interludes from the first album. Once again, everything is good humoured and down to earth even as the band churn away with great complexity. Save the philosophy and mythology for Genesis and Yes—Egg were more concerned with having a high-minded good time. The classical reinterpretations from the first album are gone (save for a bit of Bach heard in “Boilk”) in favour of concentrating on their own identity. Mont Campbell’s vocal style is still ultra-sauve, but more even keeled. “A Trip to Newport Hospital” is apparently the most beloved track on the album, and I can hear why. The intro riff is right doomy, as prog goes—almost as if it’s sprung from Iommi’s mangled fingers, mashing down on organ keys rather than against that maroon SG (there’s some more of that fuzz in “Long Piece No. 3”)—before it traipses off into jazzier realms. It’s a big comfy couch of a song; a vibe that comes to mind when people discuss the Canterbury sound—an easy-going, nostalgic aura created by young men for whom nostalgia seems a premature mindset. “Contrasong” is a punchy jigsaw of a tune, embellished by a horn section stabbing at the accents. “Boilk” is a rather indulgent 9-minute collage of field recordings, found sound, mellotron noodling, and feedback. Those were the times, man. “Long Piece No. 3” which takes up the entire second half of the album, is where Egg really flex their muso muscles. This dazzling, disorienting exercise actually has several very accessible, catchy nuggets scattered amongst the riff salad. It sounds like Egg weren’t pursuing dreams so much as transcribing, then performing them. It was all too much for Decca, who begrudgingly released The Polite Force after sitting on the tapes for several months. After that, the game was up for Egg for the time being. The trio moved on to separate projects (the Egg family tree encompasses The Groundhogs, Khan, Hatfield and the North, National Health, and Neil from The Young Ones!) before reuniting for 1973’s The Civil Surface.

Egg—s/t (Decca/Esoteric)

The music on this L.P. is not dancing music, but basically music for listening to. It is harmonically and rhythmically complex, designed to be as original as possible within the confines of the instrumental line-up; so its [sic] pretty demanding on the listener’s attention. –notes from the original LP

They come across as polite and eager to please in the liner notes, but in truth, Egg were like ELP’s bratty siblings, building lopsided-yet-intricate sand castles in the shadow of ELP’s Stonehenge. They had a whale of a time with what I consider the “rock” organ trio format (bass/drums/organ, as opposed to the jazz organ trio of guitar/drums/organ), jamming in strange time signatures and rocking up the classical canon. In common with the Canterbury rockers they eventually fell in with, Egg were whimsical and jazzy, and wrote songs with long titles (with a parenthetical bit at the end). Their first album was released to little fanfare on Decca’s Nova imprint in 1970. It captures this endearing outfit larking about with various ideas from free-form noise (“Blane”) to classical interpretations ("Fugue in D Minor" and the various movements of “Symphony No. 2”) to furious jazz/rock workouts (“The Song of McGillicudie the Pusillanimous [or Don’t Worry James, Your Socks Are Hanging in the Coal Cellar with Thomas]”). Ahem.

Keyboardist Dave Stewart went on to play with loads of people, including Hatfield and the North and Bill Bruford. His sound is in tandem with Hugh Banton’s churchy style, often lending a dreamlike air. Drummer Clive Brooks is a nimble player—he’s gotta be to keep up. And Mont Campbell (who seems a great character based on his contributions to Prog Rock Britannia) manhandles that bass like Jack Bruce and sings with a kind of lounge-y lilt. It’s hard to say whether he’s having a laugh with his singing (it was a few years before Bill Murray’s bit on SNL), but it fits the absurdist bent of most of the material.

This Eclectic Discs reissue* is fully annotated and expanded with a “lost” track (a segment from “Symphony No. 2” that was withdrawn to avoid objections from Stravinsky’s people), and a remarkable early single. The A-side, “Seven is a Jolly Good Time,” actually extols the joys of writing songs in odd time signatures, moving through bars of 4, 5, 7, and 11 as it progresses. As an educational tool, it’s awesome; as a single, it was a dismal failure. But no matter. Egg were kids hepped up on the endless possibilities of the new decade, with no precedents, no safety nets, and not much of an audience, unfortunately. But with critics and their record label on their side, Egg would get another crack at it with The Polite Force in 1971.

*Eclectic Discs is now Esoteric Recordings and is still your source for mind-blowing stuff.