Advanced studies
1966 to 1970 is usually referred to as The Kinks' "golden age," an unsullied stretch of excellence that spans Face To Face through Lola Versus Powerman. "Get Back In Line" is one of Lola's standout tracks, but it's easy to see how it's a transition from the golden age into the murkier Kinks catalogue of the '70s. Like most of the album, it's markedly different from Arthur: With his keen eye turned inward and fixed on the band's past struggles with the music industry, Davies displays a newfound solipsism that would hinder the band's work during the rest of the decade.
1971 saw the release of two Kinks albums: Percy, the soundtrack to the forgotten penis-transplant comedy of the same name, and Muswell Hillbillies. Percy never received much attention, but there are some quietly stunning tracks hidden on it, including "God's Children," a plaintive plea for equality and naturalism in the face of an increasingly mechanized society. Davies picks that ball up and runs with it on "20th Century Man" from Muswell Hillbillies. Countering the neurosis of modern living with rustic, Americana-inflected twang, the song kicks off one of The Kinks' greatest full-lengths with balls and a conscience.
20th Century Man by The Kinks
Muswell, sadly, is The Kinks' final masterpiece. Starting with 1972's Everybody's In Show-Biz and lasting until 1976's Schoolboys In Disgrace, the group unleashed a string of lavishly conceived, theatrically executed missteps that nonetheless produced some haunting tracks—for instance, "Celluloid Heroes," the sweeping final track on Show-Biz, in which Davies reflects tenderly on stardom and mortality. Just as aching is "Sweet Lady Genevieve" from the adventurously flawed Preservation: Act 1. An unabashed, wide-eyed love song, it's one of the most vulnerable tunes Davies ever put to tape.
After finally declaring rock-opera bankruptcy with Schoolboys, the Kinks released 1977's Sleepwalker, the band's tightest and most streamlined album since Muswell Hillbillies. It's far from a great record, but it marks a major turning point for the band. Perhaps feeling his encroaching middle age, Davies returned to comforting, meat-and-potatoes rock that nonetheless would never be as sweet as The Kinks' early teacup-trapped tempests. That said, every album since then has boasted at least a small batch of worthwhile songs—in the case of Sleepwalker, one of those gems is "Sleepwalker" itself. Peel back the shiny production, and there's a classic Kinks song underneath, one full of charm, sturdy hooks, and ego-puncturing silliness. It's no "Waterloo Sunset," but it's at least a dignified sunset.
The Essentials
1. Something Else By The Kinks (1967)
Although not a concept album like those that would follow, Something Else is as coherent a disc as The Kinks would ever make. It's also the band's most solidly gratifying: Taking in a dizzying vista of everyday observations, acute class conflict, political probing, and a weird, music-hall-informed psychedelia—not to mention Dave Davies' greatest success as a songwriter, the indelible, tragically funny "Death Of A Clown"—the album would be perfect even if it didn't include "Waterloo Sunset." But, of course, it does—and that song pushes Something Else into the upper bracket of all-time rock 'n' roll must-haves.
Death Of A Clown by The Kinks
2. The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society (1968)
Awash in bucolic imagery and idyllic quaintness, Village Green still has a bitter core. Painted by Davies as an embrace of country life, it's just as much a violent rejection of everything else—and the urban paranoia that would soon surface in his work lurks behind every one of the album's leafy glades and patches of William Morris wallpaper. That subtext, though, makes the record's sterling pop all the more ominous and revolutionary—as if swiping a song title from George Orwell's Animal Farm wasn't enough of a clue.
3. Arthur (Or The Decline And Fall Of The British Empire) (1969)
When the Davies' Uncle Arthur migrated to Australia right before The Kinks formed, it left an impression on Ray in particular; years later, that sense of loss and disintegration permeated Arthur, The Kinks' best balancing act between sky-high ambition and rock immediacy. Originally commissioned for a BBC program that never materialized, the album breathes pure Britishness—most heavily on "Mr. Churchill Says" and the bracing, facetiously imperialistic "Victoria."
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