Another Love Story

Love Forever Changes Collector’s Edition

(Rhino 2 CDs, 2008)

Did we truly need another reissue of Love’s Forever Changes? Rhino Records—liberator of castoff sounds consigned to the music dustbins of time—thought so, obviously recognizing that Love fanatics (such as me) will lap up anything related to the best rock album of all time (if you disagree with such a hyperbolic assessment, you haven’t heard album—enough). Hence Forever Changes, the 2-CD “Collector’s Edition.” Or Forever Changes Redux Ad Nauseum. Honestly, this latest retelling of the classic 1967 Love story adds very little, despite the wealth of material presented across the two CDs (43 tracks in all). Love’s 11-song masterpiece was perfect to begin with. The new edition doesn’t change that. And it’s no more essential than the 2001 reissue of the album (it features same remastered album, the same added outtake and demo, the same inclusion of a 1968 single and B-side, the same session highlights—all quite good). But this iteration has a whole second CD to fill, netting the listener a few more session highlights and remixes (all unremarkable) and, in the absence of newly uncovered “lost” songs, an alternate, rawer mix of the entire album (as if the original mix was flawed or inferior ?). But, lest I forget, this is a collector’s album—it’s for fanatics (and suckers for extras and et ceteras, which is why I forked over the dough for its $25 price tag).

I love Forever Changes. It’s one of the few records that I keep going back to. And, yes, it really is as good as everyone says (everyone being us dorky record collectors and music “critics”). It’s also aged a lot better than most of what emerged from the psychedelic era (of which I’m a big fan): Instead of getting eight miles high like the rest of their dope-smoking, acid-dropping cohorts, Love, chiefly mastermind vocalist/guitarist Arthur Lee and guitarist/vocalist Bryan MacLean (who wrote and sang two of the album’s classic songs, “Alone Again Or” and “Old Man”), peered through the hazy, phony optimism of peace and love, and saw a world—their world—in turmoil. They wrote of longing, melancholy, death and decay (serious bad vibrations, man!), casting long shadows with their evocative, mournful tenors over a sweeping soundscape of beautifully conceived and masterfully realized psychedelic folk. It was (and still is) a gorgeous, heart-breaking work, a major creative feat more coherent than Sgt. Pepper’s, more poignant than Pet Sounds. It was also a commercial flop, ultimately spelling doom for the band.

A year ago when my own life was in upheaval, I turned to my old vinyl copy of Forever Changes. I placed it on the turntable, dropped the needle and turned up the volume, before settling back on the couch in my empty room. As the opening notes of “Alone Again Or” emerged from the crackles and pops of my well-worn LP, I set my mind adrift and let the ghosts of Love sweep me into their current. For 42 minutes I surfed atop the undulating swells and found some much-needed solace. I doubt the Collector’s Edition will have the same effect.

All You Need Is Love

I have to be honest: there's no reason to post this dusty old record review of a CD reissue I wrote for a defunct magazine six years ago other than the fact that I just love this album and have been spinning it quite a lot lately. The thing about Love's Forever Changes is that it's one of those rare albums you could call timeless. Forever Changes is often held in the same esteem as the great psychedelic albums that captivated the young ears and minds in 1966 and 1967: The Beach Boys' Pet Sounds, Jimi Hendrix's Are You Experienced?, The Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Pink Floyd's Piper at the Gates of Dawn. But to me, it's more than just a pinnacle of psych rock. To me, Forever Changes transcends genre--as well as time and space Tell me Sgt. Pepper's doesn't sound a bit dated. No, like Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited or Bringing It All Back Home, Nick Drake's Pink Moon, Marvin Gaye's What's Goin' On or Miles Davis' Kind of Blue and Bitches Brew (among many others), Forever Changes is a true classic. But unlike those records, which were all critical and commercial successes, Forever Changes struggled to an audience. But find an audience it did; it just took aI'm glad its troubled creator Arthur Lee, who succumbed to Leukemia a couple years ago, lived to see his master work get its well-deserved recognition.

Love
Forever Changes
(Elektra/Rhino CD)

When Love entered the studio in 1967, they would summon all their strengths, talents, even demons for what would be their third album for Elektra Records. On the back of the proto-punk hit "Seven and Seven Is,"from the band's 1966 album, Da Capo, Love had enjoyed minor commercial success, and there were high hopes that this new LP would be their breakthough. And when the band finally emerged with an album titled Forever Changes, they managed to produce one of the great innovative records of not only 1967 (the year which brought radical rock from Pink Floyd with Piper at the Gates of Dawn, the Beatles with Sgt. Pepper’s, the Mothers of Invention with We’re Only in It for the Money, and Tim Buckley with Goodbye and Hello, among others), but the entire 1960s. It was an album that would forever change not just the band itself, but everyone who got tangled in its web of splendor and sorrows. A blockbuster release it was not.

Love's road to Forever Changes was rocky. When the psychedelic folk band convened at an L.A. studio to record it, it was just waking from a long stint of dormancy. The band -- composed of vocalist/guitarist Arthur Lee, guitarist Johnny Echols, guitarist/vocalist Bryan Maclean, bassist Ken Forssi and drummer Michael Stewart -- were lethargic, rusty, out-of-sync -- hardly up to the task of making record, much less a masterpiece. Lee, seemingly the only glue keeping Love together, wasn’t about to let his project crumble. He took control of the sessions (much like Brian Wilson) and became a relentless taskmaster, whipping the band into shape, coaxing some truly amazing work from his mates and thus realizing the brilliance to which this album and its songs aspired.

But there’s a darkness that haunts Forever Changes. The album radiates with beautiful, mostly acoustic instrumentation, glorious string arrangements and evocative vocal stylings, but ominous shadows loom over songs, like big black clouds threatening grassy meadows on a spring day.

Much of the gloom stemmed from Lee, whose existential dread in a climate fraught with socio-political and racial tensions and empty hippie idealism forced him into seclusion deep in the Hollywood Hills. And while Lee was a youthful 22 when he began working on the album, he had already resolved that he would be dead by 26. (It never happened, of course.) Naturally, sadness, longing, dread, paranoia, heartache, madness and death infect his songs like a deadly virus. This is particularly felt on the hauntingly gorgeous “The Red Telephone” whose lyrics read: “Sitting on the hillside, watching all the people die, I’ll feel much better when I’m on the other side.” It’s a bad trip, all right, and there are more bad vibes ahead on this compelling work. Other black beauties include “A House Is Not a Motel,” “The Daily Planet,” “Bummer in the Summer” and “Live and Let Live.”

Lee wasn’t the album’s sole visionary. Brian Maclean, Love's most underrated member, brought two of his own songs to the sessions, “Alone Again Or” and “Old Man.” He sang both, casting them in fragile, evocative tenor, rendering sublime melancholy to an album that was already spectacularly sad and emotionally sweeping.

Considering the circumstances into which Forever Changes was born, it’s amazing just how together Love sounds on this album. It’s a stunning document created by the most unheralded band of the 1960s, and it perfectly captures the mood of the times, while offering a portrait of a band on the verge of collapse.

--Joe Ehrbar
Originally published in Backfire, July 2001