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"Acid Dreams Epitaph"

cover image Too often overshadowed by the shrine that is Nuggets, this compilation, along with its companion Testament volume, has nevertheless earned significant cult status among garage aficianados, and rightly so. Comprising a plethora of rare singles from the era, the album is a near necessity for those even tangentially interested in this material.

 

Past & Present

Perhaps not as vast as Nuggets, this compiation's 31 tracks are nothing to scoff at, and the focused attention means that the material here is even more consistent than that found on its famous sibling. Whereas Testament focuses on the softer side however, Epitaph has a rawer, punkier feel right from the start. Opening with The Rogues' "The Train Kept A-Rollin'," a blues stomper right out of The Sonics aesthetic, the album never slows, quickly following with The Shag's "Stop and Listen," a deranged and jangly psychedelic ode to LSD: "Everybody's goin'/Everybody's trippin'/Everybody tells you what you been missin'" they sneer.

This is about where the album resides throughout of course, with shining moments found throughout. Larry & The Blue Notes' "Night of the Sadist" depicts an attempted love-making session squandered by an unexpected guest, "the sadist." (It's not exactly radio friendly material.) An odd counterpoint can be found in The Electric Prunes, perhaps the best known group here, and their "Vox Wah Wah Ad," which is exactly what it says it is. Claiming that the sound of "the now" is available with it, the ad even points out the sitar sound that can be achieved with it, a trait ably proven by the Prunes themselves.

With this broad a range of material it is difficult to point out highlights, though The Regiment's "My Soap Won't Float," featuring a melody out of Arthur Lee's book, grooves atop a psychedelic Doors-y organ riff. The Alarm Clocks may have the strongest single here with "No Reason to Complain," a surprisingly forward-looking folk groove that directly points toward The Velvet Underground's sound. It is one the rarest and strongest singles from the era, worth the price of admission alone.

Any difficulty found in pointing out highlights is only cause for greater celebration here. Each track fits nicely into the desired sound, veering between the rawest piece here, Randy Alvey & the Green Fuz's "Green Fuz"—whose mud-buried backing is met with vocals declaring that "we're here"—and the sweet psychedelic lines of Beaux Jens' "She Was Mine." Far more than a time capsule, this material points the way for nearly every interesting piece of rock that came after, if not in sound than certainly in attitude.

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