The moment 5.40 minutes into Henry Cow's Amydgala where the pace of their Uncle Meat meets Oliver Postgate/Vernon Elliot jazz rock shapings dissolves into a beautiful plaintive wah-wah solo by Fred Frith. I don't do decadism as a rule and am very wary of era specific responses to music (usually tied in with some notion of the writers own youth) but I hear a certain kind of early 70s melancholy in those few bars that are as beautiful as Ravel. They seem to sound simultaneously of their time and totally outside of time.
The moment 5.40 minutes into Henry Cow's Amydgala where the pace of their Uncle Meat meets Oliver Postgate/Vernon Elliot jazz rock shapings dissolves into a beautiful plaintive wah-wah solo by Fred Frith. I don't do decadism as a rule and am very wary of era specific responses to music (usually tied in with some notion of the writers own youth) but I hear a certain kind of early 70s melancholy in those few bars that are as beautiful as Ravel. They seem to sound simultaneously of their time and totally outside of time.