The Birth of Cactus 1970 may well smoke up its brand-new finally released vinyl grooves.
Cactus’ first studio album rocked. But this live recording from their very first gig is, quite simply, incendiary fire that (even today!) scorches through those long ago daily headlines of Vietnam, the draft, Richard Nixon, and a whole lot of stuff that liberal arts (then the vogue!) college students everywhere didn’t like at all. And John Fogerty sang, “Don’t let the man get you and do what he done to me.”
Blues rock fed our fears. Of course, boogie rock danced with forgetful freedom. That was a nice oxymoron. I don’t know. Perhaps you had to be there, but for all its hard-rocking intent, The Birth of Cactus 1970 is deeply inner groove music — music that understands very loud fears.
So this is very ritualistic music. It’s the stuff that spoke to the souls of a whole lot of kids who dreamt of the Great Society college degree, but instead, they found, once again to quote John Fogerty, “two Hundred million guns are loaded” and “Satan cries ‘Take aim.’” Such were the times.
Now, to the Cactus devotee: The sound on The Birth of Cactus 1970 is really quite great. There’s a little distortion (at times) on Rusty Day’s vocals, but the other instruments, Jim McCarthy’s guitars, and the excellent engine room of Carmine Appice and Tim Bogart, are quite alive with quick and pretty clear fire.
For the initiate: Cactus was called the “American Led Zeppelin.” That is certainly true for Zep’s first two albums, but Cactus is even more soaked in delta broken-levee water blues. Even in their quiet moments, they played southern slide guitar and a few harmonica honks. What with the sudden excitement with (the Zeppelin clones) Greta Van Fleet, it may well be a good bit of advice to hard-rock purists to check out The Birth of Cactus 1970, as well as the three original Cactus records with this line-up – along with the re-vampped Ot ‘N’ Sweaty lineup, which included new vocalist Peter French (of Atomic Rooster fame) – to find a parallel and much more original (with perhaps a bit more boogie) hard-rockin’ band.
The first tune, “One Way … or Another,” which would be the title track from their second album, starts with a thud, and then is an unleashed instrumental (the lyrics would be added later) that pounds on lightening and unleashes tough electric guitar fury. Then “Sweet Sixteen,” which would see the light of day on Restrictions, becomes a frenzy of heaven-blessed guitar-bass-drums-vocals euphoria. This certainly ups the burner element, but it does recall those early Savoy Brown albums like the live sides of Blue Matter and A Step Further.
“No Need to Worry,” from Cactus’ first album, plays down-home melodic dentist drill blues that’s spiced with okra-and-shrimp gumbo. Somehow, the tune and performance enter a fourth dimension of sonic pathos. Jim McCarthy’s guitar burns draft cards with defiant electricity. And then there’s the 13-minute plus “Melody: Let Me Swim/Big Mama Boogie/Oleo.” Once again, to mention the great Kim Simmons and company, this extended tune is a better-recorded cousin of the (really great) “Savoy Brown Boogie,” with multi-sections of blues and fiery rock ‘n’ roll, all played with a whiff of much more Americana blind eye moonshine.
The “Oleo” (aka “my greased-down mama”) segment, with a bass-and-drum duet, burns with the smell of an illegal substance because, and it’s hard to explain, but the possession of this butter substitute was in 1970 against the law in my home state of Wisconsin! Blame everything on dairy. This “Melody” is (to get sort of metaphorically religious) the mandatory consecration of the ’70s rock concert ritual, and it’s an “admit one” stamped passport to the hip land of the underground consciousness where, to quote Dylan, “you don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.” The song is quite the ride.
That stuff is difficult to follow. But “Feel So Good” (not be confused with “Feel So Bad” from the second album) continues the electric blues pulse, and is quite simply, a blissful blitz of rock music — with the obligatory Carmine Appice concert drum solo, after which the razor rock races to the finish line of the tune. “Parchment Farm,” the final song on The Birth of Cactus 1970, is a Bukka White-by-way-of-Mose Allison chestnut that’s a staple of blues rock. And, yeah, Cactus scorches through a brief reading of the tune and finishes with a long-winded bookended thud.
Like the band’s Cactus name, this music is hard rock that is succulent with dry-gulch spines. And this first gig recording captures the live wire electric joy that, long ago, exploded from a band filled with communal passion and, quite thankfully, managed to rock up the world — a young world that stood at the hellhound crossroads.
The Birth of Cactus 1970 brilliantly details a night of electric, defiant, and oddly hopeful blues heaven-sent rock ‘n’ roll. As said, such were the times. And this music, even today, sings with those very loud fears and the ever-forgiving boogie of a rock ‘n’ roll concert in 1970.
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