The screaming face on the cover suggests that this will be some kind of crazy music, cranked up with anger against the Man. Eugene McDaniels-- "The Left Rev. Mc D"-- has religion in his soul, and you know how wild those guys get. Just dig the Book of Revelations references in "The Lord Is Back": "The lord is mad/ His disposition's mean/ He's travelin' the road of mass destruction." And this is from 1971, so you can bet that racists, hawks and Richard Nixon are at the top of His shit list.
Any thought that this album is a novelty relic wears off, though, when you realize how sincere and frequently great it is. Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse has been a lost vinyl classic since it came out thirty years ago, and this reissue has been trickling into record stores since sometime last year. The record is an eclectic mix of soul, funk, and even folk, with a crack jazz band backing McDaniels-- a jazz singer himself in the 60s, and a hit songwriter and producer in the 70s. It's attracted less attention and support than the reissue of Shuggie Otis' Inspiration Information, but it has its own legend: allegedly, it went out of print because Spiro Agnew himself called Atlantic Records to complain about the content, and Atlantic stopped promoting the album.
This is hard to believe-- Agnew should have had bigger problems than bullying artists, but more importantly, McDaniels' lyrics actually sound more concerned than angry. He rages against injustice but he's more interested in hope: even as God prepares for Judgment Day, McDaniels reminds us, "His smile is warm and soothing/ As the morning light." Rather than targeting anyone to hate, McDaniels tries to protect us and warn us, as on the title track: he pleads with warring sides-- "Jews and the Arabs," "Left wing and right wing," "Niggahs and crackers"-- to get them to see that they're pawns: "We are the cannon fodder." The earnest cry of the chorus, "Better get it together and see what's happening," emerges from a real love. On the gorgeous ballad "Freedom Death Dance" he chides us for looking away: "Everyone wants piece of mind/ Everybody says we should ignore/ The graves we dance upon." McDaniels' smooth tenor, while technically not one of the best, is direct and empathetic-- he's a preacher, a favorite uncle and the off-the-wall guy sitting next to you at the bar.
Which is why McDaniels comes across not as an extremist or as some kind of character, but as a pretty reasonable guy. He sings about war, but he also sings an acoustic folk song, "Susan Jane," about getting it on with a rich, crazy hippie girl; and there's "Supermarket Blues," which recounts how he got in a racially motivated fight over a can of peas. The late-60s/early-70s era also informs "Lovin' Man," a song about an extremely mortal Jesus-- a "sensuality seeker" whose message of spiritual and physical love could get him in trouble with "the pigs." Yet the album doesn't really sound dated until the last track, "The Parasite (for Buffy)" (Sainte-Marie?), a ten-minute tribute to the Native Americans that ends abruptly in a freak-out: McDaniels starts to scream with horror at their plight and the band jumps to frantic noise. The clamor may be abrupt to modern ears, but as always, his heart is in it.
As great as the lyrics are, Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse's resurgence can be credited to the terrific music. The album has been prized and sampled by the hip-hop community for years: that "get it together" line should be familiar to most of you (from the Beastie Boys' Ill Communication, if nothing else) and "Freedom Death Dance" shows up on the first A Tribe Called Quest album. McDaniels taps some great musicians: the rhythm section includes Gary King (Idris Muhammad, George Benson) on electric bass, plus Weather Report members Miroslav Vitous on upright and Alphonse Mouzon on drums. Mouzon particularly stands out, with crisp drumwork that's seamlessly integrated but breaks out all over the place. The band can play it smooth on the slower "Jagger the Dagger" or "Freedom Death Dance," or lift "Headless Heroes" on Richie Resnikoff's guitar and Harry Dhitaker's electric piano.
The album sounds so ebullient, you almost forget that McDaniels' message of love comes wrapped around the evils of racism, ethnic conflict and the bomb-- and it's that shout at the end of "The Parasite" that knocks you awake again, and summons up that wrath he was warning about earlier. All the problems McDaniels sings about are still going on, and what was that about Judgment Day coming soon? Is Spiro Agnew dead yet? Maybe it's not too late to save him.
