cosmicben's Full Review: Wheatfield Soul by The Guess Who
An awful, awful record; it shows that only big-time groups like the Guess Who have the conceit and professionalism to produce such an intricately crafted piece of garbage. It sounds like they saw some hippies on American TV and decided that hey, they could do that too; so they passed around a joint, none of them inhaled, and they all pretended they were groovy for a while.
That's the only way to explain the rambling song structures and the absurd lyrics -- not even dated, because I can't imagine anyone in 1969 thinking this is profound. There's a slobbering, tuneless tribute to Gordon Lightfoot ("Lightfoot"), a cringe-worthy poetic piece ("Maple Fudge"), a crowded, somewhat catchy rocker ("When You Touch Me") and a centerpiece ("Friends Of Mine") that defies description, running ten minutes over vaguely funky backing while lead singer/guitarist Burton Cummings screams sub-hippie poetry about God and the Beatles and some guy named Michael. In the song's favor, it sure is unique and unintentionally hilarious.
Cummings sounds just like David Clayton-Thomas from Blood, Sweat, and Tears, only with a lot more sincerity; his voice can be pleasantly generic on the slower numbers, but when he lets loose, I want to slam my head against a wall.
Randy Bachman lets out some unenlightening guitar solos, but the rhythm section of Jim Kale and Garry Peterson is admirably nimble; and if you wade through the dreck, you'll come across a few tuneful, inoffensive numbers ("I Found Her In A Star", "Love And A Yellow Rose") and a gorgeous, cathartic ballad (Bachman's "Wednesday In Your Garden") that almost, almost justifies the two dollars I spent on this.
And then there's the big hit, "These Eyes", that has nothing to do with the rest of the record; the intro is a classic, and the melody and dynamics are nice, but it doesn't really deserve the attention it's gotten over the years.
The sad thing is, the whole album is dripping with sincerity: nothing's smarmy, it's all just kind of pathetic. It certainly has value as a curio, but as hard as it is to hate, it's even harder to take seriously.
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