Owen Marshall - 1975 - The Naked Truth

Owen Marshall 

1975

The Naked Truth

01. Electric Flower 4:47

02. Nana's Sleeping 3:53

03. Peanut Butter Ice Cream Man 3:39

04. Planet Funk 2:46

05. Paper Man 4:04

06. Winter Butterfly 5:46

07. Casa Del Soul 3:39

08. Ancient Astronauts 3:05

Peanut Butter Ice Cream Man recorded live at Compton Community College, Los Angeles

Winter Butterfly recorded live at Los Angeles City College, Los Angeles

The bonus tracks were originally available on extremely rare 7"'s released by both Viscojon and Tri-Spade Records out of LA. There is also mention on the SSS International discography that there is a further issue, although at the time of print this has not been confirmed.

'A great deal of creative energy has gone into the making of this LP. Which somehow illustrates what a very wise one once said, If you want anything done right, do it yourself and that is THE NAKED TRUTH.' – Owen Marshall, 1975

Every once in a while, a record presents itself so defiant in its refusal of categorisation that it becomes the bane of those poor vinyl archaeologists whose business it is to file and classify. The aptly named 'The Naked Truth' is one such artifact; a wayfaring stray of an album that weaves its insouciant magic through the edgelands of sound. The musical provenance is palpable - an electric blend of spiritual jazz, rhythmic black psychedelia and far-out exotica - but where it's headed remains a mystery, echoing shapes so strange that they fit no musical crevice. This is an album whose grooves are slow and deep, with a languid, balmy, and irresistibly pensive aura. It's moody: cosmic abstractions ooze from every sweet inflection, lulling arpeggios lose themselves in a haze of forgetfulness.

A veteran multi-instrumentalist whose compositions had been recorded by several noted jazzmen (including Lee Morgan, for whom he also worked on albums as an arranger), Owen Marshall put out this rare privately pressed solo LP in 1975. Marshall handles synthesizer, electric piano, alto sax, flute, some percussion, and even some vocals on this recording, on which he also plays some odder things like "toilet chimes," "bamboo scraper, "baja (jungle) bird talk," and "tube-a-phone." Although it's an eccentric effort in some respects, it's not quite as weird as some of the annotation on this CD reissue might lead you to expect. In some ways, it's a typical decent mid-'70s jazz fusion album, with echoes of early electric Miles Davis (especially in the electric piano), Herbie Hancock, Roland Kirk, and Sun Ra. It certainly is unpredictably eclectic, going from fairly straight-ahead fusion outings to rather spacy endeavors, like "Ancient Astronauts" and the opener, "Electric Flower," which makes use of eerie electronic seagull-like sounds and Marshall's own robotic-like narration/intonations. There's also some sumptuous lullabying in "Nana's Sleeping," with some creative repeating effects on the alto sax; get-down jazz-funk with flute on "Planet Funk"; and nods to exotica on "Casa del Soul" (the cut that employs "bamboo scraper" and "baja [jungle] bird talk"). Though not as original as some jazz icons the music might recall here and there, it's interesting and certainly far less slick than the usual fusion effort of its era, and should reward serious collectors looking for something a little offbeat in the genre. The CD adds some historical liner notes and two bonus cuts from rare 7" releases, one of which ("Evolove") is the funkiest item here, featuring some pretty orgiastic wordless vocals both male and female. Marshall's original detailed Q&A back cover liner notes are reprinted too, albeit in tiny type that's a challenge to read even if your eyesight's good.

The late Owen Marshall and his band run wild over this record, and their experiments with sound are compelling, occasionally bizarre, and chock full of strange paradoxes. So much of what can be heard here is playful, free, imbued with a sense of wonder and pure joy usually ascribed to that most natural genius of the imagination – the child. And yet there is a knowingness at work here - a certain subdued polish tempering these otherwise passionate excursions. The full force of this can be seen in Marshall's use of instruments; among the saxophone, the synth, the percussion, and the electric piano, you will hear the 'Hose-a-phone', the 'Tube-phone', 'Ply-tar', and 'Boonet'. These are instruments that Owen built himself - in order, he said, to enable him to 'tap the very depths of his creative resources...to make music fun to play, and entertaining to listen to'.

This is a private press album that begs to be public. 'The Naked Truth' is an album that wants to be listened to, it wants to be heard and take your hand and lead you far, far away – it wants to wander with you deep into the woods of imagination, just as Owen himself must have done all those years ago.

A transmission from outer space, a controlled space trip. Classified as jazz on Apple Music. Sandy saxophones & zappy synths & surely other instruments lay the foundation of the LP’s first track, which is itself an outlining of the album as a transmission from outer space, a controlled space trip. Sonorous. Sheets billowing, the aurora borealis sketched on a piece of paper. Electric harps and this saxophone, delayed, beautifully curved lines on an icy lake. Production is appealingly lo-fi, quite funky. Some blissful collisions occur in the interchange of bass & keys in “Peanut Butter Ice Cream Man.” This is also within the wheelhouse, but there’s something to the production which allows smaller moments to shade the songs more deeply, like the ambient left in the last minute of “Planet Funk.” Decided change-of-pace with the island flavored “Paper Man” while still retaining a communal groove.