"Bonsoir. C’est une emission direct de la Planete Gong."
Probably about 1974, and I’d been seduced by the overblown prog nonsense of ELP and Genesis, and was never more open to new music that the radio didn’t seem to play. Virgin Records in St John’s Precinct seemed like Mecca for musical experimentation, and this caught everyone’s eye in the 70s. An LP for the price of a single! 49p! Definitely worth taking a chance on.
The name – Camembert Electrique, silly yet sophisticated (it’s in French, you know) – the Daevid Allen cartoon cover with its strange characters, and the photo of dubious hippies which you know would just make your mum tut in disgust.
The music? Like nothing you’ve heard – strange cosmic noises before the anarchy of You Can’t Kill Me (a high energy ‘fuck you all’ five years before the Sex Pistols - I’ve offered the opinion, usually when drink has been taken that Camembert Electrique is an early punk album, and I don’t wholly distance myself from that when sober).
Then the space whisper of Gilli Smith, which sounded erotic to a teenage boy, but sounds silly and indulgent to a man in his 60s, numerous drug references, use of the f-word (to mean sexual intercourse, not just as an adjectival filler or instruction). The repetition, repetition, repetition that someone else would harness ten years later.
For me the high point comes at the start of side 2 of the old LP (not Squeezing Sponges Over Policemen’s Heads – the title is all that recommends that) – the masterpiece of space rock / jazz rock Fohat Digs Holes In Space. I could actually do without Allen’s druggie vocals on this, it’s Didier Malherbe’s magnificent sax work which, combined with Pip Pyle’s frenetic drumming, takes this to the highest level.
4* - a formative classic, flaws and all
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