jingle jangle mornings, six

To the extent that the 13^th Floor Elevators are remembered at all, it’s by a small handful of cultists, of which I include myself.   They’re not really thought of as a jangle band.  I’d call them a blues-based, psychedelic jug band.  (I like to be precise).  But they did have a few poppy songs with ringing guitars, like the one I’ve posted tonight…  The Elevators’ records were poorly recorded, even by the standards of psychedelic-era garage bands.  But the amateurishness of the recording and sound is part of the charm, and there’s an irresistible Frisco-via-Texas strangeness that pops and crackles just beneath the surface of things.  Listen carefully because there’s a lot more going on than you’re likely to notice with your attention divided.  Rocky Erickson, a mercurial front man if ever there was one, is the main source of the band’s freaky energy, and when his voice laid over guitars that buzz and chime, it’s hard not to fall under the spell of this music’s hallucinogenic groove…