Delired Cameleon Family – Visa De Censure N°X (1967/1975 )

I’ve always had an aversion to the musical category called ‘Fusion’, often referred to as Jazz Fusion or, even worse, Jazz/Rock Fusion. Those slick, smooth artists like Pat Metheny, Jean Luc-Ponty or… Allah help me, Jeff Beck. Maybe I should explain. 

Just the thought of that smooth, useless sound immediately transcends me back to my 14-year-old self.  Here’s the scene: Mike and I on another frantic music search through the local department stores, searching desperately for our latest obsession. Those were our only resources for music back in those days. Fortunately for me, my friend Mike shared the same unhealthy fascination with that dark underbelly of rock music.  

On one such journey, we sought to find the suitable follow-up albums to Jeff Beck’s Yardbirds and his first two solo albums, Truth and Beck-Ola.  Those early Beck albums are seminal hard rock albums, filled with songs that absolutely slay anything on Led Zeppelin’s debut record. In terms of maximum rudeness and pure volume, they can’t be beaten. If you really need to hear English boys stealing the riffs of Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters, look no further. Sorry, Percy and Page. 

Mike and I certainly found lots of Jeff Beck albums that we thought would satisfy. Those mid-seventies albums seemed to offer so much hope! The slick, 70s coolness of Beck posing on the album sleeves of Blow by Blow (1975) or Wired (1976). How could we miss out on these!? And then there was the promised heaviness of those song titles; Scatterbrain, Led Boots. The songs just had to rock! Right?

After finding half a dozen Beck albums in the dollar-bin of our local, Mike and I walked home as triumphant warriors.  The raping and pillaging was done, and we were certain that we had stumbled upon a treasure-trove of proto-metal heaviosity.    
Only… it was a lie.   

Instead of the youthful teenage rebellion of “Shapes of Things” or “Rock My Plimsoul“, we found ourselves in the thick, tall weeds of Beck’s Jazz/Rock/Fusion experiments.  This wasn’t anything like the Yardbirds or those early albums. What the fuck happened?!  Instead of roaring metallic guitars, two teenage boys found themselves suffering through the instrumental “progressive fusion” workout leftovers from the department store cut-out bin. We wanted power-cords! But what we got were “sophisticated and elaborate chord progressions” with smooth “crossover” appeal for all those ex-hippies doing post-graduate work. 
It wasn’t just a disappointment, but also a defeat. We had been betrayed. Vengeance was in our minds.  This type of shame can scar a young music fan. And it did.

All of which brings us to an amazing little musical discovery that really put me on my head.  Delired Cameleon Family’s Visa De Censure is a psych-rock, space-jazz masterpiece. And dare I admit: the beautiful jazz/rock fusion interludes weaved throughout the record are brilliant. Mixing together the space-rock vibe of Hawkwind with that lightning-clean pallet of Fusion.  This world can be a strange and beautiful place occasionally.

In 1967, filmmaker Pierre Clementi presented organ, mellotron and synthesizer player Cyrille Verdeaux with the idea of doing the soundtrack for his newest film venture, Visa de censure n°X, a lost psychedelic mind-trip without dialogue (or purpose). The film itself was never officially released until 1975, and then only had a very limited release. But the soundtrack is another story.  A beautiful whirlwind of texture and color. The cinematic landscape created is so real and vivid that you want to reach out and touch the audio images before you. Images that dance and sing across a vast landscape of sound that incorporates more chord changes than a Frank Zappa record.

This is a record that made me a believer the first time I heard it. Before I could even react negatively to the smooth fusion, my head is in another atmosphere. This isn’t the boring, smooth elevator fusion of my nightmares  (thank you, Mr. Beck).  On this record, musical terms like fusion or psych or space rock simply cease to exist. They lose all meaning within this context.  
What we really have here is a tight psychedelic manuscript. A story within a story, the plot that burns through your cortex as one melody drifts into the next, chapter after chapter pulling through the story.  It’s a rare thing when music can appeal to both the analytical half of your brain while still sparking a creativity that is completely unique and fulfilling.

And while this music is certainly a product of the late 60s, it isn’t bogged down in the clichés of that generation. This is music that takes a chance. Music that both honors and destroys the musical boundaries that most musicians play within. In fact, this music is so good and refreshing that a few more listening sessions may just relieve me of the trauma of the “tasteful” Blue Wind or the “complex” Freeway Jam. It’s that good.

On a side note: There were often lots of treasures in that local department store back in those days.  Many of my favorite albums were purchased from that one-dollar bin. The corner of the album cut off so that the world would know we haven’t paid full price. Oh, the shame.  But it didn’t matter to Mike and me. My first Black Sabbath and Budgie albums were purchased with clipped corners. And I believe the music was just as good as if we had paid full price. Just saying.

by Shawn Ciavattone