November 2025
In September, I wrote a piece about ten LPs that would make a good start toward building a record collection. Those albums are all well-known and highly regarded, and I chose them because they deserve to be in any good record collection.
For me, however, one of the joys of collecting records is finding stuff that’s a little out of the way. There are albums in rock that everyone acknowledges as classics, but some of my favorites are not so well known. I decided to create a list of LPs I love that aren’t necessarily popular, but are worth a listen. For now, I’ll limit my suggestions to rock albums. Over the years, I’ve written about a few of them, but those columns are hard to track down. I thought I’d look at some of these LPs again, and add some new ones.
I’m not going to claim that all these records deserve to stand with the greats, but some of them do. Even after many years of listening, they all sound fresh to me, and they still move me. When I play these LPs now it brings back memories of the times when I first heard them, but it also transcends those experiences.
Some of the musicians whose LPs I’ve listed here are very popular, and have released other records that have been far more successful. Others have never received the attention they deserve.
This time around, I’ll look at albums made in the late 1960s through the mid-’70s. In the future, I hope to look at some of my favorite records from the ’80s, ’90s, and into the 2000s. This list is personal, so it’s possible I’m among a small group that thinks these records have merit. (Obviously, I don’t really believe that, or I wouldn’t have written about them.)
Since these albums are somewhat obscure, they require some history and explanations. For that reason, I’ve split my list in two to keep each article to a manageable length. The second part will appear next month.
Iain Matthews: If You Saw thro’ My Eyes (1971)
Iain Matthews was a member of Fairport Convention in the late 1960s, and appeared on the band’s first two albums. He left to form Matthews Southern Comfort, which recorded three albums in quick succession in 1970. The third one, Later That Same Year, included a cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Woodstock,” which became a hit. The following year, Matthews signed with Vertigo Records and released If You Saw thro’ My Eyes.
Matthews produced the album and gathered a talented group of musicians who were sharply attuned to his goals as a songwriter and singer. Sandy Denny and Richard Thompson had been with him in Fairport Convention, bassist Pat Donaldson played with the folk-rock group Fotheringay, and guitarist Tim Renwick played with Al Stewart and would appear on many recording sessions during the ’70s and beyond. Guitarist Andy Roberts was also in demand as a session player and has had a long association with Matthews.
The nine tunes Matthews wrote for the album display his gift for melody and arrangement. Acoustic guitars give “Desert Inn” a light air, but Gerry Conway’s drums ensure that it rocks. Thompson’s stinging electric-guitar solo is one of several he delivers throughout the album. Denny plays harmonium on “Never Ending,” adding immeasurably to the song’s feeling of longing. She is joined by jazz pianist Keith Tippett, who plays delicate arpeggios that cradle Matthews’s understated tenor.
If You Saw thro’ My Eyes never pushes, seeming to unfold calmly, but the tunes are beautifully rendered and evocative. Renwick’s volume swells on electric guitar on “Little Known” add a bit of tension that is reinforced at points by Donaldson’s bass lines. “Southern Wind” begins placidly but is firmer and more intense during the chorus. Thompson’s skillful fingerpicking on “You Couldn’t Lose” surrounds Matthews’s clear voice, and the guitarist’s lovely, overdubbed solos mirror and strengthen the singer’s emotional performance.
Matthews covers two songs by folk singer and novelist Richard Fariña. “Reno Nevada” is the hardest-rocking tune on the album and features searing, breathtaking guitar solos from Renwick and Thompson. “Morgan the Pirate” is acoustic-guitar-based but still has a firm backbeat. Renwick takes the solo on acoustic guitar, and it says something about his skills that I’ve never wished it had been played by Thompson.
The playing on If You Saw thro’ My Eyes is stellar throughout. Aside from the consistently impressive guitarists, Conway’s drumming is in the pocket, and Donaldson’s bass provides melodic counterpoint while remaining rhythmically solid. The background vocalists, Doris Troy among them, enrich and fill out the songs.
Denny plays piano and duets with Matthews on the title tune, bringing this beautiful album to a calm conclusion.
Moby Grape: Moby Grape (1967)
The story of Moby Grape is one of the most unfortunate in rock history. Bad, exploitative management and poor record-company promotions at the beginning of its career meant that the group could never build the momentum to achieve the fame it deserved.
Skip Spence was the drummer in Jefferson Airplane, but left the band after the first album had been completed. He was primarily a guitarist and songwriter, and enlisted two other guitarists, Jerry Miller and Peter Lewis, to start a new band. Drummer Don Stevenson and bassist Bob Mosley completed the lineup, and all five musicians contributed songs to Moby Grape’s debut.
“Hey Grandma” embodies all the band’s strengths, pulling you into the album with layers of guitars that lock together and respond to each other in a musical conversation. The song has an irresistible melody and hook. The harmony vocals are intricate and layered, and Mosley’s bass bounces things along. The tune is so catchy that the Move, a great British band that knew a thing or two about writing pop songs, did a near note-for-note cover on its debut album.
“Fall on You” has a killer guitar riff that alone should have secured immortality for this album. “Mr. Blues” and “Changes” rock with conviction, while retaining the group’s talent for vocal harmonies and strong melodies. “Come in the Morning” and “Lazy Me” transport you to 1960s San Francisco but feel timeless. Every track on Moby Grape is ear-catching and expertly played. The guitars are elaborate and edgy, with plenty of flash that doesn’t undermine the songs.
“Omaha” is a rave-up and one of the most underappreciated great songs of the ’60s, but some of the most memorable tunes on Moby Grape are delicate and beautiful. “8:05” features skilled acoustic-guitar work and harmony vocals as lush as anything by the Byrds. “Someday” is itself a nod toward the Byrds without sacrificing Moby Grape’s own identity. “Sitting by the Window” is mysterious and ethereal, with an airy guitar break that enhances the spell of the song.
Moby Grape released several more albums, and they’re all worth having. But none of them quite achieve the consistent brilliance of the debut.
Todd Rundgren (as Runt): The Ballad of Todd Rundgren (1971)
After his group Nazz fell apart, guitarist and songwriter Todd Rundgren worked as a producer and engineer for Bearsville Records. He released Runt in 1970. Runt appeared to be the name of the band responsible for the music, but Rundgren wrote the songs, sang them, and played most of the instruments on the album. He retained the Runt moniker for a second album, but its title was an acknowledgment that the music was the work of one person.
Like the first album, The Ballad of Todd Rundgren was largely played, sung, and produced by Rundgren, with some help from other musicians. He also supervised the mixing of the album. Rundgren had learned how to use the studio better, and the album is a more confident and focused record than its predecessor. He was more successful at integrating soul music into his own work, and the album shows the influence of Laura Nyro, whose music had left a strong impression on Rundgren.
“Long Flowing Robe” shows how much Rundgren had learned from Burt Bacharach, Carole King, and other AM-radio pop masters. The mix of keys and guitars is just right, the backing vocals help carry the lively melody, and the chorus is upbeat but smart. “A Long Time, a Long Way to Go” and “Be Nice to Me” are the sort of romantic pop that Rundgren would return to over the years to get a chart hit without compromising his artistry.
The Ballad of Todd Rundgren anticipates some of the approaches to music that Rundgren would take over the next few years. “Parole” and “Bleeding” show off his considerable guitar skills, but the solos are an important part of the songs and help move them forward. “Chain Letter” is an epic in five minutes, opening with an acoustic guitar and Rundgren’s voice, then adding instruments and voices with each verse and shifting in shape and force as it moves along.
“The Range War” is a clever country-and-western parody. Rundgren nails the Floyd Cramer–style piano intro. “Hope I’m Around” mixes Philly soul and rock, and Rundgren sings with unrestrained passion without veering into sentimentality. His growing confidence in the studio shows itself in the small touches that refine and strengthen the arrangements in every song.
Rundgren learned a lot while making The Ballad of Todd Rundgren, and around the same time he honed his skills in the recording studio by engineering albums by the Band, the Butterfield Blues Band, and others. He recorded much of his next album at his home studio, and Something/Anything? was his commercial and artistic breakthrough. No one who had bought The Ballad of Todd Rundgren was surprised.
Fleetwood Mac: Bare Trees (1972)
When guitarist Peter Green left Fleetwood Mac, the band carried on with the two remaining guitarists in the group, Jeremy Spencer and Danny Kirwan. Fleetwood Mac’s fourth studio album, Kiln House (1970), featured Christine McVie on keyboards and background vocals, but she wasn’t yet a member of the band. By the time Fleetwood Mac released Future Games in 1971, Spencer was gone and McVie was officially a part of the group. American guitarist Bob Welch took Spencer’s place.
Starting with Future Games, Fleetwood Mac moved on from its British-blues roots into pop-based songwriting that had more potential for broad appeal. Kirwan, McVie, and Welch each wrote songs for the album. The same lineup, which included founding members Mick Fleetwood on drums and John McVie on bass, returned the following year with Bare Trees.
Kirwan has the lion’s share of songs on Bare Trees. He wrote five of the album’s ten tracks, and Christine McVie and Welch wrote two each. Kirwan retained the group’s blues roots in “Child of Mine” and the title track, but he doesn’t fall back on formula. Both songs gave Kirwan plenty of room to show his guitar skills, and they are constructed from different sections that keep them from bogging down. “Sunny Side of Heaven” is a light and likable instrumental that isn’t filler, a rare thing in rock albums. “Danny’s Chant,” another instrumental, is the only track on Bare Trees that doesn’t quite gel.
There’s no blues in Kirwan’s “Dust,” a gentle, transcendent track. Kirwan borrowed lines from poet Rupert Brooke to create this moving song about romance and death. Welch’s songs, “The Ghost” and “Sentimental Lady,” are intelligent pop that reaffirmed Fleetwood Mac’s move in a new direction. The band’s label, Reprise, released “Sentimental Lady” as a single and it went nowhere. Welch redid the song in 1977 when he was a solo artist and it reached the top ten.
Reprise Records chose not to release Christine McVie’s two songs from Bare Trees as singles. “Homeward Bound” has intricate, flowing guitars and an energetic vocal by McVie, who also shines on organ and piano. She turns in equally affecting vocals on “Spare Me a Little of Your Love,” which is enriched by her multitracked harmonies on the chorus. The tunes are so memorable and captivating that I’m at a loss to understand how Reprise could have missed their obvious hit potential.
Kirwan left Fleetwood Mac after Bare Trees, and the three albums that followed weren’t as strong. The best songs on them were often by McVie but, once again, Reprise didn’t notice. By early 1975, Welch had left and been replaced by Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. Both helped Fleetwood Mac turn the corner commercially.
The group’s tenth studio album, Fleetwood Mac, hit stores in the summer of 1975, and suddenly Fleetwood Mac was climbing the charts. Two of the three singles from Fleetwood Mac that hit the top 20, “Over My Head” and “Say You Love Me,” were McVie’s. She also wrote two of the hits from the massively popular Rumours (1977): “Don’t Stop” and “You Make Loving Fun.”
Buckingham and Nicks certainly had their share of hit songs with Fleetwood Mac, and changed the band’s fortunes. If Reprise had been paying attention, Christine McVie’s songs might have helped the band strike gold sooner.
Tim Buckley: Blue Afternoon (1969)
In the late ’60s, Tim Buckley seemed to have the qualities that should lead to fame and record sales. He was good-looking, had a brooding star quality, wrote distinctive songs, and had a voice with a range of more than three octaves. He was a restless and questing musician, however, and changed direction several times during his eight-year recording career. This made him hard to pin down and hard to promote; some of his music had little commercial potential.
I could include almost any Buckley album here. None of his recordings are widely known. He had an ardent following while he was alive, and interest in his music has endured, but it would be hard to say that Buckley was ever mainstream. Blue Afternoon is as good a place to start with him as any. It contains hints of the folk influences of Buckley’s early records while embracing the jazz improvisational style of his third album, Happy Sad, which was released earlier in 1969 and is a good companion piece to Blue Afternoon.
Buckley’s acoustic 12-string guitar gives “Happy Time” an airy quality that is supported by arpeggios played on electric guitar by Lee Underwood. John Miller’s animated acoustic-bass lines provide intelligent support and keep things rhythmically centered. Buckley sings with restrained passion and glides into falsetto smoothly, especially in the closing verse of the song. Underwood’s chording and arpeggios shadow and support Buckley’s voice. The bossa nova riffs that close the track are an inspired choice.
The same trio plays on “Chase the Blues Away,” and the spare arrangement adds to the song’s moody, subdued feel. It also puts the focus on Buckley’s voice, where it belongs. He glides easily over the melody and never falters when shifting to a different register. Miller’s bass emphasizes the song’s jazz elements, and Underwood’s understated playing fills things out brilliantly.
David Friedman joins the group on vibes for “I Must Have Been Blind,” one of Buckley’s most touching love songs. Jimmy Madison uses a light touch on the drums, and Buckley’s jazz phrasing and timing are given lovely, sympathetic backing from Friedman. Underwood takes a turn at the piano on “Blue Melody,” another charming melody that Buckley’s vocals take in unexpected directions.
Friedman and Madison set the mood for “The River,” which Buckley sings with near-operatic fervor. Friedman’s solo captures the song’s dark undercurrent. “The Train” is the longest track on the album—just under eight minutes—and Buckley uses his entire vocal range in this tale of life and love. His voice conveys everything from elation to anguish and he improvises on the melody, stretching and bending it. Underwood’s lengthy solo fractures the music and then calmly reassembles it.
“The River” hints at the direction Buckley’s music would take in his next two albums, Lorca and Starsailor (both from 1970), which carried him deep into avant-garde, experimental territory. Buckley followed them with Greetings from L.A. (1972), an attempt at something more commercial. It was the funkiest record he ever made, overtly sexual and full of fire. His last two albums, Sefronia (1973) and Look at the Fool (1974) were, unfortunately, the work of a musician who had become unsure what direction to take.
Buckley died of a drug overdose in 1975. Nearly 20 years later, his son Jeff would release Grace (1994), one of the very best records of the 1990s. Jeff Buckley also died young, and his music is held in high regard. His father’s should be, too. Begin with Happy Sad and Blue Afternoon.
These albums and the five I’ll look at next month all come from the late ’60s and into the early ’70s, when rock musicians took full advantage of the freedom that the British Invasion and Bob Dylan had created by tearing past any boundaries that had been established up to that point. Record companies were only beginning to realize rock music’s massive sales potential, and gave an unusual amount of freedom to recording artists. Musicians themselves benefited, and so did their fans.
. . . Joseph Taylor
josepht@soundstagenetwork.com
