The Yardbirds Greatest Hits (Epic 24246)
Released 1966
Shapes of Things
Still I'm Sad
New York City Blues
For Your Love
Over Under Sideways Down
I'm A Man
Happenings Ten Years Time Ago
Heart Full of Soul
Smokestack Lightning
I'm Not Talking
The `birds, like most of the British Invasion bands ... like most rock and roll bands, actually, were ultimately a singles band. They actually only recorded two proper studio LPs in their day - the proto-psychedelic Roger the Engineer and the odd, popped-out Little Games. Both of those are worthwhile albums, but it was their singles from 1964-1966 that remain their definitive body of work.
The Yardbirds Greatest Hits is not the definitive `birds comp. That honor would have to go to Rhino's Ultimate!, which collects all the singles, and the best of the b-sides, album cuts and rarities, and adds a nifty little book full of rare pictures and good liner notes, all on two affordable discs, and it's got everything that anyone but the most die-hard Yardbirds fanatic could ever want (did I mention I'm one of the most die-hard Yardbirds fanatics?).
But the great albums tell a story. And the problem with comprehensive archival collections is, however great they are, they are too inclusive and sprawling to tell a proper story. We're talking aesthetics here. I wouldn't part with my copy of Ultimate! for nothin'. The opportunity to plug in a disc and hear everything from r&b garage demos to overproduced pop failures is too great to let go. But Ultimate! is a library. Greatest Hits is a story. And if it isn't the whole story, that's because The Yardbirds had more than one story in them. Which means, yeah, there's lots of great Yardbirds tracks that ain't on here. But don't worry, little ones ... we'll be getting to those...
It kicks off hard, in a most Yardbirds-y fashion; a barrage of hard chords - dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah/dah-dah-dah-dah-dah-dah, then into a "Bolero" like march, all martial drums and and slamming power chords, as Keith Relf intones his fears of the future.
I have long held the theory that some rock bands are song bands, meaning they have great songs, and some are sound bands, meaning they may have less-than-stellar songs, but they sound great. This is not to say that a song band might not sound great, or that a sound band might not get their hands on an occasional outstanding song. But sound bands don't have a strong in-house songwriter. The Yardbirds are the very definition of a sound band. Lyrically, "Shapes of Things" is schoolboy poetry. That isn't to say they're not evocative; a young person's plea not to let our beautiful world die (sad irony, the world outlasted Keith Relf). But it is the pounding music that puts it across. Marching like the four horsemen of the apocalypse across the soundscape, then yielding to one of Beck's memorable guitar flip-outs, twisting and bending the notes until they sound like a sheet being wound so tight the fabric will rip. The song itself, like many `birds originals, seems so slight, so sketchy, it can barely hold the band's relentless sonic attack. It may be odd to kick off an album with such a doomy track, but it's as good an introduction to The Yardbirds as you could ask.
As if it's cold-war-era fears were not dark enough, "Shapes" gives way to a dark, gregorian chant. "See the stars come falling down from the sky ..." intones Keith Relf in his darkest croon, as a lonely acoustic guitar strums out ominous, heavy, dark minor chords, and the backup singers (McCarty/Dreja/Beck? The mind boggles) groan that gregorian chant behind him. This is a lost love song out of Edgar Allan Poe. There would be nothing like it until the Stones "Paint It Black" many months later. "When the wind blows, we are apart..." Relf farewells. A strange choice for a bid at the Top Forty. But The Yardbirds were the definition of strange. "New York City Blues" is a straight Chicago blues pastiche, with amusing lyrics about a girl, her dad, and a shotgun. It's amusing and the playing is, as always, stunning. But it's great strength is instrumental. It does however, remind us that The Yardbirds cut their teeth as a blues band.
Then the ominous, sustained ring of the harpsichord, and some warning slaps on the tabla, announcing "For Your Love", the Graham Gouldman-penned hit that drove Clapton out of the band. Clapton may not have liked it, but I've always dug that slinky rhythm, the harpischord's snaking tones, and Relf's sinister vocal. And when they hit the chorus, its still pure Yardbirds - they stomp it like a grape.
A winding guitar riff that seems to spin around and around, and shouts in the distance, and we're into "Over Under Sideways Down", their catchiest rocker (allegedly based on "Rock Around the Clock", though damned if I can hear it). Beck's guitar spins and spins around McCarty/Samwell-Smith's churning rhythm while Relf extols the virtues of the carnal lifestyle; "When I was young, people spoke of immorality/All the things they said were wrong are what I want to be." This is probably the best lyric Relf ever got his hands on, and the song's relentless drive is irresistible.
That's one side, and we've already covered "Bolero" rhythms, gregorian chants, harpsichord driven avant-pop, basic blues and a winding rocker allegedly based on Bill Haley. Are you gettin' the idea this band was eclectic? And yet, all of it a piece. And all of it rocks.
Side Two (the great albums have sides, did I mention?) kicks it off with another martial beat. "I'm A Man" is the `birds masterpiece; 2:38 of relentless riddim, driven by blasts of Relf's harmonica and Beck's total guitar wipeout - when he runs out of frets, the fucker just keeps going! It don't get any hotter than this.
There's only one way to follow such a thing. Go further. "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago" seems to bring home all the menace and fear evoked on Side One, then stir it into a whirling stew of power chords and winding solos, with Relf intoning ominously about losing his sense of time and self, "sinking deep into the well of time" he chants, over and over, as the band flies around him like a mosh pit. The mid-break features not only the most crazed soloing Beck had yet laid down, but a sound-collage of hot guit licks from Beck, Chris Dreja and newcomer Jimmy Page, sound effects, Relf laughing maniacally, and a cockney voice babbling insults, presumably at the band ("Pop group are ya? Where'd you get that long `air?"). This is the descent into the maelstrom. No other rock and roll band has even come close to it - this is the sound Sonic Youth spent their career chasing.
After that particular blast of sonic insanity, it's back to Beck playing sitar-licks on his guitar, "Heart Full Of Soul", a Top 40er even Chris Isaak couldn't ruin (though he tried). This picks up where "For Your Love" left off, but is even more signature Yardbirds, with its middle-eastern guitar and chanted, minor-key chorus.
"Smokestack Lightning" takes them back to the blues, live from the Crawdaddy club in `64. The sound is rough, bootleggy. The `birds had power, but the couldn't cut Wolf and his band (who could???). This gets by on the sinister tune and Relf's hard harp.
Another barrage of power chords announces Mose Alison's "I'm Not Talking", here taken with punk-level tempo and intensity, Relf barking out Alison's witty lyrics like an angry dog. This is the second great rocked-up Mose Alsion cover (after The Who's glorious takes on "Blues" aka "Young Man Blues"). The Yardbirds run it down to the ground.
10 tracks, 30 minutes, and The Yardbirds have blown all but their strongest contemporaries, and a couple generations of pretenders out of the water. If that don't make for a great album, I don't know what does.
