Q 65 - Dutch garage-blues

Snubbed, outside their own country, by both audiences and critics, hastily pigeonholed as the Dutch equivalent of the Pretty Things, Joop Roelofs and Peter Vink's Q 65 remain without doubt the most enjoyable surprise in store for anyone with the courage (or simply the inclination) to venture into the eccentric landscape of Dutch beat in the Sixties. Unwitting devotees of Willie Dixon's blues (they'd admit to having heard his songs only in other artists' versions, were anyone to ask them why their debut was so stuffed with covers of his material), and avid listeners of r&b, they tore both genres apart with a sadistic and rough garage approach, fragmenting the groove into interplay between bass and guitar (when the harmonica wasn't lending a hand), at times mewling and razor-sharp, at times paranoid and diseased, prickly and dissonant, forging a nihilistic, abrasive sound: without realizing it, through a sort of natural inclination (and, it must be said, a certain lack of technique), they were heading in exactly the same direction as Britain's most extreme blues-rock avant-garde.

"You're The Victor" came out in February 1966, marked by a decent melodic appeal, a little harmonica-led bluesy gem that tried to crystallize the whimsical exuberance of these five shady Dutch characters into a saleable format. Far more significant was the B-side, "And Your Victor", a calmer blues number, at least rhythmically, which today sounds a bit like the early Who (admittedly with a far clumsier delivery), with a bare-bones arrangement and vocals that veer between passionate and bored, bordering on out of tune.

The second single, "The Life I Live", remains the band's most famous song (if "famous" is the word), with an all-too-catchy chorus and a dirty but notably disciplined sound reminiscent of certain Italian beat combos of the era. Here too it's the B-side that offers the more interesting material, "Cry In The Night", with flashes of scratchy guitar and, for once, lyrics that actually make sense (let's remember these poor souls are Dutch...).

After a UK "launch" that only partly succeeded, the band released their first album: Revolution, an extraordinary record on many fronts (no, the cover art isn't one of them). Packed with small masterpieces waiting to be rediscovered, such as "Just Who's In Sight", torn between a visionary raga led by guitar mimicking a sitar and a Kurt Weill-like gait embellished by an ocarina solo (!), not to mention the confused, lurching blues of "Down At The Bottom" (a Willie Dixon cover), Revolution remains one of the peaks of the garage-blues scene, one of those records that delight the knowing listener, who feels it's somehow theirs, enchanted by the guitar interplay of "Summerthoughts In A Field Of Weed" (which recalls a bit of Beefheart), dizzying to the point of nausea, and by the engaging funky rhythm (though, as usual, a bit sloppy) of "Get Out Of My Life, Woman" (an Allen Toussaint cover). And listening to the grandiose 13-minute suite the band builds on Sonny Boy Williamson's "Bring It On Home", split into numerous sections, with a middle part where the group quotes Maurice Ravel's Boléro, that's when you're compelled to cry masterpiece. Shame the record is marred by a few lesser moments, like the Otis Redding cover "Mr. Pitiful", which even brings in a horn section to not particularly thrilling effect.

Throughout 1967 and 1968 the band focused more on live shows (mostly at home) and on promoting a string of singles: "I Despise You", marked by a violent riff and a simple, catchy melody, "From Above", a "World Of Birds" increasingly drawn toward psychedelia, as well as the daring, tribal "Sundance", which added new textures to the band's arsenal, and also the more straightforward blues (though played with a wild fury) of "So High I've Been, So Down I Must Fall". But it's above all the EP Kjoe Blues (1967) that stands out from this period: an ideal companion piece to Revolution, it features a heartfelt cover of Robert Johnson's "Ramblin' On My Mind", along with the breezy, playful "Ain't That Lovin' You Baby", the once-again limping gait of "No Place To Go" and the instrumental "80% O".

All the material released on singles and EPs from this period was collected on a record put out in 1969 and presented as the band's second album (even though it isn't really a considered follow-up to Revolution), Revival, uneven and fragmentary by nature, given its origins. Even the new material, for the first time, fails to meet expectations: it seems Q 65's inspiration had by now run dry.

The arrival of the progressive era only made things worse: as we've already seen, Q 65 were not exactly skilled musicians — if anything, they could be labeled a punk band avant la lettre (a very fashionable description these days) — and, eager as they were for due recognition on the international music scene, now looking beyond their own country's borders, they had no idea which way to turn. And instead of deepening this approach, perhaps also because their inspiration had dried up (and certainly also due to tensions within the band, which led to the firing of drummer Jay Baar in early 1970, replaced by Beer Klaasse), they reinvented themselves in a hard rock vein, stuffing their records with clumsy attempts to "elevate" their music and songwriting.

And so, caught between mysticism, their blues and r&b roots, hard rock and progressive leanings, they churned out the shapeless mess that is Afghanistan, whose only redeeming qualities are a cover of "Nobody Knows You When You're Down And Out" and the ballad "Don't Let Me Fall", submerged in the indifferent, soporific tedium of a dreadful record that today sounds terribly dated. Not to mention the follow-up We're Gonna Make It (1971), a further drop in quality (if that were even possible) heading in a direction that led to their breakup in 1972.

The band reformed in 1980 for a series of local tours, but split up again within a year.

It's hard today to gauge Q 65's legacy in the history of music, not least because they're one of those bands to whom critics routinely deny any real historical importance, filing them under a well-defined lineage already explored by others before them (in this case the names that most readily come to mind are the Yardbirds and the Pretty Things, but also Ten Years After and Cream). Still, I'd urge anyone to try rediscovering them (as far as it's possible to track down their records, at least here in Italy), because even if it may not offer the listener anything strikingly new, or inspire the kind of admiration reserved for true creative genius, listening to Revolution and these five Dutchmen's early work is still hugely enjoyable today — if anything, perhaps even more so now than back then, just as is the case with the albums of their more illustrious contemporaries.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google