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26 Jan 2017

Highway “Highway” 1972 New Zealand Blues Rock



Highway From left George Barris, Bruce Sontgen, George Limbidis, Jim Laurie and Phil Pritchard

Jim Lawrie with Highway















Highway   “Highway” 1972 New Zealand Blues Rock
full
A vinyl reissue of the sole album (1971) by a forgotten band from New Zealand. Highway formed in 1970 with ex-members of Retaliation, Serenity Fair, The Boddys, Apple, Bitter End, a.o. The music is underground-tinged rock with rural and roots influences. Following tours of New Zealand and Australia, Highway disbanded in 1972. This reissue comes with two bonus tracks, taken from the band’s 7-inch…….. 

Back in the early ‘70s, when I was but a pimply adolescent wearing scratchy, school-issue shorts, my parents bought a grocery store. Supermarkets had yet to take off in a huge way in Hamilton, and this medium-sized mini-market was pretty busy. 
The shop only sold a few things that really interested me: cigarettes (I covertly tried every brand), ice-cream (hence the pimples), and a swivel rack containing discount-price LP records. 
I took every single album home to audition (carefully, of course) on my brother’s fabulous Oriana 2.5 watt music system, and that’s how I discovered the wonders of The Nice, pre-Experience Hendrix recordings, and the one and only long player by NZ group Highway. 
I never knew anything about these guys (the digital superhighway wasn’t too fast in those days) and had a love-hate relationship with the record. I couldn’t quite figure it out, because it was a bunch of grooves more than songs, and in 1972, I liked songs. It still made it into my rapidly expanding LP collection, but later, during the punk era, I sold it to Sylvio’s second-hand dealer in Wellington’s Cuba St, along with a whole lot of other hippy music, to make way for some angry, sharp and spiky new wave sounds. Oh, how I regret that exchange. 
What a surprise, then, to see this obscure item reissued on CD in 2011, lovingly packaged and annotated, and with a remastering job that really shows up the hidden depths of the recording. 
Listening to it for the first time in over 30 years, I’m amazed at how I can still remember it so well. I can even mimic the guitar solos. 
It’s a weird experience. Here’s a record that is deeply flawed, but is also rather great. The cliches pile up pretty quickly. The first track has a grinding country-rock groove and a woeful lyric about listening to the band. The title: ‘Listen To The Band’. It almost sounds like he’s making the words up on the spot. 
Then, in the middle, something weird happens. Like one of those groovy porn soundtracks from the early ’70s, they cut everything back in order to build the groove up again, and despite awful lyric couplets (“when the music is over baby/and they all go home/ don’t forget the singer now/don’t forget the song/the one that got you off/what about that guitar/ooh/you played a mean guitar, you think you could go far/maybe a rock’n’roll star”, etc), the singer’s rough-edged, expressive adenoidal vocal works its trick, when combined with the most important elements here: the drums and bass. 
It’s important to realise that back then, NZ recording engineers didn’t seem to know how to record drums and bass with any bite or depth whatsoever, so the fact that what sounds essentially like a loose jam session sounds so good is almost miraculous. 
Nick Bollinger in his over-the-top assessment talks about the duo guitars being in the same league as the Allman Brothers, but these guys don’t have anything like the firepower. The guitars are fairly thin, and they do have a slightly southern rock-into-country-into-funk feel but they’re spindly, nothing like the fluid sounds of more famous guitar practitioners of the era. But that’s of little consequence, because the album rocks. 
‘Daisy’ is only five minutes, and is something like a real song, with a real pop chorus, but the rest of it could almost be Poco or even Little Feat. But even this has a middle section that’s a cosmic jam, with the singer doing an ecstatic vamp. It sounds really curtailed, like they would have stretched out live like a Grateful Dead epic. 
‘A Whole Lot Of Everything… And Nothing’ is a dirty boogie with a lyric to match, an ode to the greaser gypsy rock lifestyle that would have denoted liberation, or at least freedom, at the time. There’s an odd, awkward but enticing choral pause before they launch back into that bucking bronco of a boogie. There’s plenty of guitar here, and it’s good work, but hardly ‘Layla’. 
‘I Only Wanted To Rock And Roll’ says a lot about the singer’s lyrical approach. It’s such a shame that he was so limited in his lyric concerns, because the way he wraps his tonsils around the words is mighty impressive in a rough-hewn way. There is a loose but well practiced, pub-band feel. But there’s more than a little bit of JB here, both in the riffing/grooves and the twisting vocal gyrations. Proof of some cross-fertilisation between genres and races even back in the provincial NZ of 1971. 
“When I see the morning sun/Look out on a brand new day”, he sings on ‘New Day’, with its uptempo message. But even here he can’t resist a bit of scatting, and there’s a tempo change down to a slow sensuous drift before it gears up again. 
Eight and a half minutes of ‘The Ride’, which rhythmically mimics the click-clack of train tracks. He’s going to get down with a funky woman. You really hear the duo guitar interplay on this, and it’s closest to the Allman Bros comparison, but way less fluid, more rancid boogie (and that’s a compliment). In the freak out middle section the guitar makes horn noises and it all gets very percussive. 
‘Smashing’ is the psychedelic freak out track. It sounds like something the Nice or one of those English psych bands could have done in ’67. It breaks down and someone says “play something we all know” – a sentiment bands must have heard much too often back then at gigs – before launching into an exquisite jazz/rock finale. 
Two songs are tacked onto the end: The single a and b-sides, and they sound like a different band. Just conventional hokey country rock. 
Highway is really something special, for all its flaws, and deserves a place in every collection of great historic NZ music. 
Oh, and it sounds really good, too. GARY STEEL………………. 

All five members were seasoned professionals from different parts of New Zealand, but happenstance found them all between gigs in Wellington at the same time in early 1970. The gravel-voiced Bruce Sontgen had been exercising his diaphragm in hard-rocking combos since 1963, and most recently he’d fronted Wellington’s Tom Thumb, while two others had recently returned from Australian sojourns: George Limbidis, fresh from Freshwater, and Phil Pritchard, recuperating from Retaliation. Jim Lawrie had just returned from Whangarei and a gig with Serenity Lane, and George Barris had just returned from Auckland, where he had played with The Underdogs, Jigsaw and Fresh Air. 
With its druggy, bluesy jam-songs that could go on for half an hour or more, the group toured the student circuit with great success, but by late 1971, they were ready for the challenge of Australia. Just before leaving, however, with producer Alan Galbraith, they attempted to capture their essential musical character on tape. They must have had their work cut out for them, cutting those epics down to size. In the end, the album comprised seven tracks of spaced-out boogie rock that, while carrying echoes of stoner groove bands like the Allman Brothers and Man, definitely had its own thing going on. 

Says producer Alan Galbraith: “Most of the bands (at the time) were at the mercy of the hotels, churning out covers like live jukeboxes for the boozy pub crowd … Then there was Highway. All five were locked together in one monstrous, cohesive unit. It was loud, it was hypnotic, it was original, and everyone in the room was under their spell.” 
Unfortunately, despite interest from Australian entrepreneur Michael Gudinski, Highway’s Aussie mission was unsuccessful in securing either a large following or a contract, and they broke up in mid-1972, while their album, with no support from an absentee group, soon sank into obscurity. Luckily, we have it back to remind us of one of the really great one-offs of NZ rock history, and it’s an album that sounds fresher – and in its own inimitable way, funkier – than ever. 

The group reformed late in 1972 without Sontgen or Barris, but only lasted a short time as an instrumental band. In 1973, they underwent a name change to Danny Douche and the Pelicans to work as a 1950s-style covers band. It couldn’t, and didn’t, last…..Audio Culture……………… 


Tracklist 
A1 Listen To The Band
A2 Daisy
A3 A Whole Lot Of Everything … And Nothing
B1 I Only Wanted To Rock And Roll
B2 New Day
B3 The Ride
B4 Smashing 

johnkatsmc5, welcome music..