‘Say goodbye to the summer of love…’

There’s an autumnal chill in the air right now, but while the summer’s gone, I’m yet to tire of an album that’s provided a key part of my soundtrack these past couple of months, returning time and again to the latest long player from Vinny Peculiar, a 10-track trip of rare beauty, perhaps even (whisper it) his finest record to date.

From the moment the chanting and lilting piano leads us into ‘Death of the Counterculture’, the opening track of How I Learned to Love the Freaks, we’re tuned in and turned on to a sonic masterclass in cultural history, Vinny style, taking us back to the age of Aquarius and the era and aura of the hippies and flower-powered outsiders. And along the way our spirit guide – real name, Alan Wilkes – provides us with his somewhat unique brand of further education, signing us in for temporary membership of the VP Counterculture Club, with no dropping out required.

As soon as I opened the padded envelope and slipped the enclosed disc into my car stereo CD player, I was sold on Vinny’s 13^th studio album. And the fact that I was Manchester-bound that first morning seemed to fit the vibe perfectly, bearing in mind that this Worcestershire-born and bred songsmith spent many key years there, a spell including his Parlour Flames project a decade ago involving former Oasis henchman Paul ‘Bonehead’ Arthurs, and further happenings alongside former Smiths Craig Gannon, Mike Joyce, and the not long since sadly departed Andy Rourke.   

Inspired by hippy culture, the Summer of Love and the socio-political awakenings of the late Sixties, How I Learned to Love the Freaks is deemed ‘part tribute to an emerging free-thinking youth culture, the risks they took, values they espoused, sacrifices made, as well as the failings and ultimate implosion culminating in that Death of the Counterculture.’

And after the scene-setting, subtly tumultuous opening of that opening number, the rolling bones of the blues properly kick in and we’re ‘Going to San Francisco’, tracking a young man’s awakening and pilgrimage to the Haight and beyond, your scribe already fully invested, heading out on a Greyhound bus for what I can only assume is a VP confessional, delivered in Dylan-esque style (‘Highway ‘68 Revisited’, maybe?), with hints of ‘The Jean Genie’ thrown in, Alan letting himself go.

‘Met my girlfriend at the station, there were other pilgrims there, smoked a refer on the sidewalk, met a kid with purple hair. Someone gave me a poncho, David Crosby style, but I left it on the bus and it made my girlfriend smile.

‘And then came the acid and it took me by surprise, my watch it started melting, there were rainbows in my eyes.’

Maybe that observation regarding ownership of the lyrics is part respectful nod to Vinny. He’s such a great songwriter that even if he’s talking in the third person, I’m easily convinced these could be first-hand stories. They’re certainly put over with panache and believability.

And yet while this LP hints at so much, from The Beatles and Bowie to The Kinks and Mott the Hoople, for some reason I’m back to that line in ‘(Get a) Grip (On Yourself)’ where High Cornwell suggests, ‘The worse crime that I ever did was playing rock ‘n roll.’ I somehow can’t believe Alan could be guilty of anything bar a little experimentation for real life experiences’ sake. Besides, ‘the money’s no good’ in this game.

Maybe that’s where we’re at with him today though, long in the tooth realisation leading to subsequent contentment, having juggled work and family commitments with leisure pleasure to get where he’s at – as opposed to the perceived frustration of The Stranglers’ frontman in ’77. If there really were incidents which ‘got out of hand, man’ en route, he clearly rode those waves and moved on, wiser for the experience.

While I’m not sure it’s his voice, lyrically, throughout, or if he’s just the everyman in the songs – playing roles here and there – it’s clear that his sentiments and observations are heartfelt and he’s on top of his game, living his best songwriting life, sharp verse complemented by quality musicianship, the main man (vocals, guitars, bass, keys, harmonica) joined here by bandmates Dave Draper (bass, synth, guitar), Rob Steadman (electric piano) and daughter Leah Wilkes (backing vocals) for an LP put down at the Old Cider Press, Pershore. And doesn’t that sound idyllic?

It’s unlikely you’ve got this far without knowing about Alan and his alter-ego, but I’ll add a little autobiographical detail (linking below past my past VP feature/interviews on this website), our hero growing up in Worcestershire, training as a nurse before signing to Manchester cult label Ugly Man Records (former home to Elbow), where he started out on that road to those 13 studio albums of ‘literate autobiographical pop music’ over a 25-year career which has seen him on the road in various permutations of bands, solo and duo shows in the UK, Ireland, mainland Europe, and the US.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yeah, track three, a gear change required for the more wistful ‘Peace and Love’, as our Alan ‘considers protest, apathy and mistrust’ on a song carrying shades of Grant McLennan, not least those gorgeous chord changes.

‘I met her at the rally, they were tearing down a statue. She said you’re either for me or I’m against you.

‘And we talked about injustice and the future of the planet, then she sat outside Pete’s Café, wrote a poem all about it.’

That vibe continues with ‘Headshop’, Alan going all Ray Davies on us in another beautifully evocative tale from the past. And as for that middle-eight…

‘I knew the owner, Geraldine. We had a thing when we were 17. Sometimes I wonder what might have been, if you know what I mean. It was a really cool scene, man.’

Sublime.

If there was a tick-list of hippy themes tackled in the making of this record, kudos for Alan for subtly working on that premise with style. The concept is never in your face, ‘Ashram Curtains’ another fine example, a little lead guitar noodling perfectly placed in a deep tale of self-discovery and home truths.

And soon we’re replenished and back on the bus, looking for the next ‘out there’ experience, the more acerbic, riff-laden ‘Hippie Kids’ surely a hit in a better world. Think of T-Rex’s ‘20^th Century Boy’ dragged into the new millennium, Alan making his Marc upon us.

‘On a spaceship to the moon. Good trip, bad trip, any trip will do. Waiting for the show to go on, you put a sunflower in the barrel of a gun.’

The title track was the one that properly caught me out, first listen. It’s a sad tale, a poignant one, and certainly colourful, involving a confessional admission of youthful guilt following a rather harrowing incident. It’s by turns about being easily led by the crowd in the heat of the moment, bullying and ignorance, but ultimately acceptance and understanding, and speaks best for itself in the format it’s delivered, somehow uplifting in its final message. And again, that deft lyrical touch makes you realise what an artisan we have in Alan.

It took me a while longer to understand the similarly reflective, Seventies era Fleetwood Mac-like ‘Peter and the Rainbow’, but again I guess it’s a keystone here, and expresses more about the killing of the hippy dream than hundreds of pages of dry discourses on the subject.  

‘And we closed in on Mother Earth, and we gave thanks for all we were worth. But the very best of our intentions never suited those high-faluting conventions.’

It’s a theme deftly continued with ‘All Property is Theft’, before Alan’s look at the personal impact of those cultural shifts and its impact on subsequent generations neatly comes full circle with closing number ‘Flower Power’, where he seems to convey a hint of regret that the dream is over, on a track described by the man himself as ‘both celebration and reminder of what can be achieved and how easily it all slips away.’

‘Went to war against the state; read Albert Camus and William Blake. Started teaching at the college; radical visions, alternative knowledge.’

All in all, Alan describes How I Learned to Love the Freaks as ‘a guitar-based Grateful Dead-inspired, Jefferson Airplane-revisited, Chocolate Watchband-approved kind of record.’ And despite all those references I pointed to instead, I’m not arguing with any of that. In short, it’s a triumph, and one that deserves further recognition. It should be the subject of future cultural study material on the one hand, but it’s also just a rather wonderful 10-song opus, as strong in a musical sense as it is lyrically.

For this website’s January 2022 feature/interview with Vinny Peculiar, head here. And for WriteWyattUK’s previous feature/interview with Vinny Peculiar, from late 2019, head here.

How I Learned to Love the Freaks is out now via Shadrack & Duxbury Records, with more detail via Vinny Peculiar’s Bandcamp page. you can also follow vinny Peculiar via Facebook, Instagram and Twitter, and his own website. Meanwhile, Vinny Peculiar is back on the road in October and November, with full details here.