He declined Jimmy Page’s offer to become lead singer of the New Yardbirds, soon to rename themselves Led Zeppelin. He said no to Richie Blackmore’s offer to replace Rod Evans as the lead singer of Deep Purple. He performed at the 1971 Saint-Tropez wedding of Mick and Bianca Jagger, before the likes of Beatles Paul and Ringo, Julie Christie, and Brigitte Bardot. His duet with Melanie on “Mr. Tambourine Man” at the 1971 Glastonbury Fayre is one of the Seven Wonders of Music. His name is Terry Reid, and he is the most fascinating man in the world.
If not one of the better known. Turning down a gig fronting Led Zeppelin will do that. But Graham Nash put it best when he said Reid should have been a “gigantic star.” He had a voice that gained him the nickname “Superlungs.” Think of a cross between Steve Marriott, Robert Plant, and, well, Melanie again, because he was definitely in touch with his feminine side. And he possessed a voice supple and flexible enough to do things Marriott, Plant, and Melanie never could. And at his best, which unfortunately wasn’t often enough for him to join the ranks of the superstars, he was a superb songwriter and interpreter of other people’s material.
It didn’t help that he never found his way into a big-name group. He remained a cult artist, and one who didn’t appeal to everyone; Robert Christgau of The Village Voice summed up Reid’s seventies work with a dismissive, “Persistence beyond the call of talent.”
But Reid should be better known, and the proof lies in his 1969 sophomore LP, the eponymous (and Mickie Most-produced) Terry Reid, which he recorded at the tender age of nineteen. The material is eclectic; impassioned acoustic guitar ballads mingle with hot-buttered soul numbers and rockers with rocket red glare galore, and this despite the fact that Reid’s trio didn’t include a bass player. Add a few covers that he definitely makes his own, and what you have is one very good album. His voice alone makes it so.
It opens, no surprise, with a blue-eyed soul take on Donovan’s “Superlungs My Supergirl.” Reid’s guitar sounds like a bass as he walks the song in and sounds like a bass throughout, giving the song this big bottom that shouldn’t work but does, and he astounds when he sings, “Wowawowawaw my superlungs.” The man is a force of nature, and that voice is a revelation, even if the song lacks a certain something.
“Superlungs My Supergirl” may not be world-altering, but follow-up “Silver White Light” is. Coming in it’s all fuzzy power chords and this silver white organ that brings much light—this could be the greatest song the Small Faces never made. Reid has the big pipes of Steve Marriott, the guitar skills too, but what really brings it all home is the simultaneously hard-hitting and spiritual melody. Reid sounds like a seeker, the song reminds me of “The Baker,” and its ending is pure perfection. “Above you, up above you, aww yeahhhhhh!, right up above you” sings Reid, and he sounds every bit the mystic as Van Morrison. This is one of the best songs of the late sixties and hardly anyone heard it.
“July” is a quiet acoustic guitar ballad of the sort I always avoid, but Reid’s supple and emotive voice is undeniable and keeps me listening despite myself. He plays some fancy guitar, then really lets loose on the vocals, and I hang on the guy’s every word until the end. Remarkable. Follow-up “Marking Time” is a hard-charging foray into electrified soul power, with the remarkably anonymous Keith Webb smashing away on his drum kit while Peter Solley’s organ plays this funky riff that doesn’t stop. Meanwhile, and this is what makes the song so great, Reid goes full Marriott, his voice raspy until it isn’t, and there’s this remarkably soulful moment when he sings,
Call me anything
Call me a fool
Call me what you want
But darling, just stay cool, stay cool, stay cool, stay cool
Waaaaaaaaah, a yeah yeah!”
After which he sings some more funky nonsense while the organ stabs away then rolls, people, it rolls. Then Reid goes “Ooof!” and I’ll be damned if Webb doesn’t take the song out with a brief drum solo that doesn’t offend my aesthetic sensibilities. “Stay with Me, Baby” is a power-chord infused and intensely soulful take on the heavily orchestrated 1966 hit by the remarkable Miss Lorraine Ellison. Once again Marriott comes to mind, but Reid is more nuanced, and while he can’t touch Ellison (probably no one could) his vocal performance is a bravura one nonetheless.
“Highway 61 Revisited/Friends” is an odd bird and a mistake I think; “Friends” is too good a song to bookend between the Bob Dylan chestnut. Reid boogies and vamps his way through the Dylan song, with a nice shuffle beat, a funky organ riff and lots of stinging guitar fills, but “Friends” is the real winner, and why he didn’t record it as a standalone is a mystery to me. It’s inspirational, friendly, and big, and the backing vocals on the chorus are sublime. The organ is killer, Reid’s vocals are over the top, and when he screams before launching into a killer guitar solo I get goosebumps. And he drags the whole thing out in a good way before he throws in some groovy acapella soul before the organ vamp takes us back to the Dylan highway. This may be the funkiest take on “Highway 61 Revisited” I’ve ever heard, and it too deserves to be a standalone.
“May Fly” is another slow one; Reid talk/sings over acoustic guitar and a piano that sounds pure Small Faces/Faces to me, and once again his flexible and emotive vocals are nothing less than jaw-dropping. His tone is simultaneously conversational and airborne, and when Reid takes flight you realize you’re listening to something sui generis. The very power pop “Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace” should have been a hit—imagine Badfinger (with whom Reid once collaborated) with a lead singer with mad, mad skills, and an organ and guitar attack that never lets up. This is power trio brilliance and a true lost classic, right to the end where the band slows things down for a soulful outtake.
“Rich Kid Blues” opens with Reid singing over a simple guitar figure, then the drums and organ come in and Reid cuts loose on vocals, blowing the house down. Then things perk up some, before that huge organ comes back in and Reid takes names before the pace really picks up. Then the song slows again and Reid really emotes over that guitar, before the band comes back in again big time and Reid gets really excitable, by which I mean he sounds like he’s on fire. Simply wonderful.
Robert Plant couldn’t sing like Steve Marriott and Steve Marriott couldn’t sing like Robert Plant but Reid could sing like both of them in the same song, which could and does make him one of the premiere vocalists of his time. And on Terry Reid he proves he could write a damn good song while he was at it. And he went on to record such remarkable (if more countrified) songs as “Faith to Arise” and the better-than-CSN&Y “Seed of Memory” and the impossibly laid-back funky “River.” But in the end his songwriting just wasn’t strong enough to take him to the top.
Instead he went about his business, recording his music almost as if he was doing it solely for himself, and he never became Robert Plant or Steve Marriott or Graham Nash. But no matter. On Terry Reid he left us with a body of great songs and an album that more than deserves to be heard. If only for that voice. Terry Reid’s voice was one in a million.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
