When I look back at this blog’s coverage of influential British rock bands of the sixties, I see that the “big three” of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones and The Who have all had their moment in the spotlight. There’s another band of the time, though, that arguably deserves to be counted in a “big four” and that is the band formed in Muswell Hill in 1964 by Ray and Dave Davies, namely The Kinks.
Unlike the aforementioned bands who unarguably achieved the status of international legends of rock, the Kinks never fully capitalised on their opportunities and talents. For example, although the band emerged during the great British rhythm and blues and Merseybeat scenes and joined those bands spearheading the so-called British Invasion of the United States, the constant fighting between the Davies brothers (a pop-cultural forerunner of the Gallagher brothers, if ever there was one) led to a touring ban in 1965.
As well as the volatile relationship between the brothers, the song-writing style of Ray Davies sometimes took the band away from the expected commercial music their contemporaries were striving for. He simply had too much wit and intelligence and eclecticism, drawing on British music hall, folk and country music to inform some of his output. Take 1968’s The Kinks Are the Village Green Preservation Society album: released the same week as the Beatles’ White album, it contained a collection of character studies and meditations on a disappearing English way of life, all brilliantly observed. Sadly, in a commercial world dominated by psychedelia and effects pedals and the Summer of Love, The Kinks had turned down the distortion on Dave’s guitar, and the album sunk without a trace (despite it later becoming established critically as an all-time classic).
Despite such occasional commercial failures, the band remain one of the most influential bands of all time, and you only have to look at the songs to know why. You Really Got Me and All Day and All of the Night basically introduced the idea of the three-chord riff; and did much to turn rock ‘n’ roll into rock. Gloriously melodic, storytelling songs abound: Sunny Afternoon, Waterloo Sunset, Dedicated Follower of Fashion, David Watts, Come Dancing, Lola. A host of future pop stars cited their influence and held them in high esteem (just ask Damon Albarn or Paul Weller).
A personal favourite of mine is Autumn Almanac, a charming vignette of Baroque pop released in 1967; here’s a Top of the Pops appearance to appreciate, and the lyrics below to remind us of just how English-pastoral-romantic Ray Davies could get.
From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar
When the dawn begins to crack, it’s all part of my autumn almanac
Breeze blows leaves of a musty-coloured yellow
So I sweep them in my sack, yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
Friday evenings, people get together
Hiding from the weather, tea and toasted
Buttered currant buns, can’t compensate
For lack of sun because the summer’s all gone
La la la la, oh my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
I like my football on a Saturday
Roast beef on Sundays, all right
I go to Blackpool for my holidays
Sit in the open sunlight
This is my street and I’m never gonna to leave it
And I’m always gonna to stay here if I live to be ninety-nine
‘Cause all the people I meet, seem to come from my street
And I can’t get away because it’s calling me, come on home
Hear it calling me, come on home
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, it’s my autumn almanac
La la la la, oh my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
Bop bop bop bop bop, whoa
Bop bop bop bop bop, whoa
