Darker Velvet: Deceased Artiste Lou Reed (part 1 of four)

Lou Reed took himself very seriously. At times that made him a great artist. At others it made him a nasty son of a bitch. At still others it made him an imminently satirizable figure (who wound up not being satirized, mostly because he was a cult icon but never a massive mainstream success). Now that he has departed this mortal coil, we can deal with what mattered most, his music, the best and the worst, the songs that will hopefully remain around forever (“Sweet Jane,” "Satellite of Love," “Dirty Boulevard”) and those that should've never seen a legal release (that one where he bellows about his then-wife Sylvia, sounding like John in the worst throes of Yoko-worship). But before I get to the music, let's just review what we can call, for lack of a better term, the prickish side of Mr. Lou Reed.

Reed was certainly an NYC institution, but not a friendly one. That seemed to have changed after he and Laurie Anderson became “an old couple” together – they'd could constantly be run into attending events downtown, out in Brooklyn, or in Lincoln Center.

They performed regularly, either together or separately, at events produced by their good friend, the wonderfully talented Hal Willner. They even dressed up in silly outfits and served as “king and queen” of the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island. Through it all, Laurie remained a sort of smiling beacon; Lou, on the other hand, maintained a really good glower.

Even as his lifestyle mellowed, Lou maintained an adversarial – no, let's be honest, a hostile – relationship with the press. His standard line was that he loathed journalists. What was interesting about that (and very telling) was that it was journalists who created Lou Reed.

He was certainly a musician's musician (cue the Eno quote about the folks who bought VU albums), but he also was lionized and mythologized in the press. Rock critics treated him very seriously, and although they did pan his work – and a LOT of the criticism was merited, let's be honest (I'm a fan, folks) – they also helped him craft a public persona as a “poet of the streets” and “punk forefather.”

I remember reading an interview in a British mag just a few years back where Lou got pissy with a gent who was merely asking him about the various grades of guitars he'd used over the years. This after Lou had mellowed out and could've become the kind of genteel, classy “elder statesman” that various singer/songwriters have become (Leonard Cohen is the very ideal of this).

He felt a need, though, to tell off interviewers and maintain a hostile position to the press, even as the press kept throwing garlands at his feet (even when his work wildly missed the mark – but I'll talk about “The Raven” soon enough). Let's run through some history....

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Although Lou hated it (or perhaps, precisely because Lou hated it), the Victor Bockris book Transformer offers us a look at the many guises of Mr. Reed throughout the years. Bockris' preceding book, written with “Exploding Plastic Inevitable” member Gerard Malanga, Up-tight: The Velvet Underground Story, sketches how Lou and the band were broken on the “scene” by Andy Warhol, and how, once they had moved away from the Warhol camp, Lou tossed out the immensely talented John Cale (his main rival for leadership of the group) and then estranged the other two members (especially Sterling Morrison) by mixing them “down” on the band's third, self-titled LP (you can hear the original mix on the VU box set).

Lou was a literary-minded guy who wanted to break into rock 'n' roll badly, so badly that he toiled for the amazing Pickwick Records, which just appropriated trends from the major labels and had their “house writers” come up with songs that sounded like the hits. Here is the best example of his work from that period, “Cycle Annie.” Notice the chuckle in his voice here – he knows this stuff is crap, but in fact it's really fun, solid rock 'n' roll:

The Pickwick Records are not the weirdest early Lou recordings you can hear. Those would have to be the 1965 demo tape (found on the VU CD box set) that the three piece Velvets did of songs in a funky folk vein (with a fucking harmonica!). Here is their bluesy, seemingly endless version of “I'm Waiting for the Man.” Lou's whiny voice is absolutely bizarre – you'd never believe that would be the same guy whose “pretty voice” would be found on the opening VU song “Sunday Morning”:

The four Velvet Underground albums are indeed perfection – although some fans prefer the first two because the clear tension between Reed and Cale was what “fueled” the band, the third and fourth LPs are perfect examples of Reed's young, acid-tinged genius. Here is an “interview” with Lou conducted by famed producer Tom Wilson in 1967 (this, of course, before his “rival” had left the band):

The Velvets' albums are easily available all over the Internet (and have been rhapsodized about by better souls than I), but a few of the artifacts have to be seen to be experienced. One is the Warhol film of the Velvets jamming with Nico (and her kid) in tow (which has been on and off YouTube for years, thanks to the furor of the Warhol estate). Here it is, from Italian TV, with the MoMA intro card left intact!

The other is the mini- “reunion” that occurred when Lou and John Cale played with Nico in Bataclan in '72; it was a magical musical occurrence that wouldn't happen again – Cale would work with Nico often, and Lou and Cale would collaborate on “Songs for Drella” and the VU reunion tour. You can see the TV broadcast of highlights from the '72 concert here.

The best account of Lou's solo career can, as mentioned above, be found in the Bockris biography (also a debunking of his tales of a terrible childhood – probably the reason he hated the book so much).

Even when seemingly stoned (watch him slurp at his drink!) in interviews, as here (in Australia in '74), he did the Dylan-in-'65 thing of being sarcastic and acting as if the interviewers weren't worthy of his time (although it's obnoxious as hell, it clearly works – the folks can't wait to write about ya when you're a rude asshole to them). At this point he was still in his glam phase, replete with dyed hair and nail polish:

That is indeed a funny strategy when dealing with mainstream, “square” interviewers, but as time went on that became Lou's default mode. Here you see a British interviewer talking about how you could warm Lou up by talking about old rock singles:

And you can see a fledgling interviewer whose English isn't very good going through the traumatic experience of having Lou as one of his first interviews. Sure, the editors, knowing Lou's rep as a dick with interviewers, should've sent someone who actually knew something about Reed's music to talk to him, but Lou really seems to love playing cat-and-mouse with this young guy.

Friend Steve suggested that Lou “does a great imitation of Jerry Lewis” in the interview above, and there's a lot to be said about the similarities between the two performers – although I do think Jerry would've been kinder to a foreign interviewer than Lou was. I've been trying to verify a story I read once that said that Lou was kicked off his college radio station for doing a nasty impression of Jerry Lewis (has anyone got a tape of that?), but it is indeed true that the mannerisms of both men when pissed off at journalists are quite the same.

Let me close out this part of my tribute (yes, I actually really love a whole bunch of Lou's music!) with two interviews from very different periods in his life. First, let's start with the recent years – I will cite in the next part the album I think that was a watershed, in that he was finest personal statement and his last truly great album from start to finish. After that he involved himself in a bunch of projects that stretched him as an artist but were really misguided, uninteresting, or just plain awful on a musical level.

One of his most laid-back projects ever was a “quiet” album of mediation music called Hudson River Wind Meditations. So by the time that came out (2007) he was a “mellow” individual who had a perfect life mate, had won extreme honors in his profession, and had done whatever the fuck he had wanted in music and had it all released by major labels. So did that make him a nicer guy? Well, why don't you read David Marchese's interview in Spin from 2010?

Lou expects his interviewer by that point to know his work cold, does not want to be asked about whether he exposed listeners to the gay lifestyle (he answers snottily and then stares at Marchese when that topic is mentioned), and really gets riled when asked about the possibly commercial enterprises he did like that silly-ass Honda ad (when he was in his “muscle-Lou” phase), complaining that has “nothing to do with music.”

After barking at Marchese for asking him about tai chi (which supposedly became Lou's one major past time and fascination – some folks like to talk about that stuff; ever read David Lynch talking about TM?), he tells the interviewer he's “not interested in music” and declares “we're done talking.” This from the man who crafted Hudson River Wind Meditations....

But to really get the feel of Lou being a jerk to an interviewer you have to go back to primo Lou, back to when he was still writing great songs (albeit maybe two or three per album of 10 or 12 – I've got too many of 'em, kiddies). In 1978 the great writer Josh Alan Friedman (whose Tales of Times Square I count among the best books about our burg) was assigned by the Soho Weekly News to interview Lou and told to ask him about Brooklyn by his editors (talk about sending a kid into the lions' den!).

You can read Josh's interview in its entirely on his Black Cracker Online blog, but I'll note that Lou has nothing nice to say about either Brooklyn or Long Island, does get misty about old r&b records and Andy Warhol (side note: what was all the Andy worship about in interviews and Songs for Drella when Warhol's own diaries record the number of times that Lou snubbed him publicly?), and he tells Josh that only good-looking people should be rockstars (not “ugly” Tom Waits, “four-eyed” Elvis Costello, and “niggers like Donna Summer”).

So, go and read the interview – it gets to the point where Lou tells Josh how he would kill him. The most memorable pullquote? “You oughta fuckin’ kiss the ground that you’re walking on that I’m even talking to you. I’ll chew you up on any level you want to get to. You’re a fucking moron, and you oughta fuckin’ know it man, ’cause you don’t know what you’re talking to, or how you’re talking to it.”

Admittedly, Lou was, to put it plainly, a really nasty drunk at this point in his life (cue “The Power of Positive Drinking”). But, again, go back to the 2010 interview above, and you see that Lou has taken the death-threats out of his interviews and the “faggot”/“niggers”/“lowlife Jewish asshole” stuff out of his vocabulary, but he still was a petulant, pissed-off prima donna.

Is there any trace of that Lou on record? Well, I'm sure it exists in several bootlegs, but for some unknown reason, most likely fulfillment of a record contract (personally produced by Lou himself), one of the MOST RIDICULOUS-EVER live albums is Lou's two-record Lou Reed Live: Take No Prisoners, recorded in May 1978 at the Bottom Line in NYC. If you want to hear really *great* Lou Reed live, listen to Rock and Roll Animal and Lou Reed Live (the one to the right). But if you want to hear a NYC rock icon try desperately to sound like Lenny Bruce, and fail, big-time, then check out this atrocity. (It was indeed released on CD and now is available as a legal MP3 download – Lou musta liked it!)

Lou is drunk or stoned (or both) and never stops fucking talking throughout certain songs – and he's less funny than Francis Albert was in his “comedy routine” in the middle of the Sinatra at the Sands LP. During “Sweet Jane”, he goes on about, among other things, Barbra Streisand being condescending at an awards ceremony, people from Wyoming (?), politics, and Henny Youngman. He affects a bitchy pose to those who talk in the audience, but also never stops doing Lenny's nasal voice.

The whole set is really Lou at his most indulgent and awful, but to experience him at his most drunk/stoned/indulgent/rambling/unfunniest, you must hear him doing “Walk on the Walk Side.” He starts the song, returns to the actual lyrics every so often, but mostly conducts an ongoing monologue consisting of short lines that mean nothing at all.

It's a 15-minute abomination that finds him running down Robert Christgau at some length, then moving on to mock the folks mentioned in “Walk,” Candy Darling, Jackie Curtis, “the Sugar-Plum Fairy,” and Joe Dallessandro. At this point Lou clearly thinks he's Ondine in addition to Lenny – but unlike those two, again, Lou is just NOT FUNNY.

The band continues to play the melody, assuming he'll come back to speak-singing the song, but he's relentless in supplying quick quips. Eventually the band ends the tune because, well, he's just not gonna shut up.

The fact that he included one of his more embarrassing tunes, “I Wanna Be Black,” on this LP is entirely appropriate. During a really looooong version of “I'm Waiting for the Man,” he goes back to being Lenny, and even obliquely refers to Groucho's “Show Me a Rose (and I'll Show You a Girl Named Sam),” but at times seems to be talking to himself, not the audience.

In re-listening to the album to write this post, I should note that the only really great things about it are the cover illustration by Brent Bailer and the collage design on the gatefold (and the album sleeves) by Phenografix Inc. and Dennis Weeden.

In the next three parts of this post I'll discuss the one journalist who called Lou out on his bullshit and will finally praise the guy's music.

The "resurrected" pioneers of shock rock: Coven, featuring Jinx Dawson

I've paid tribute before on this blog to Alice Cooper and the pre-Alice trio of performers who actually began the “shock rock” concept. But I left one act out and will now rectify that error by talking about the very first “Satanic” rock band, their incredible stage show, their hard rock/psych/pop-rock trio of albums, and their talented and devilishly sexy lead singer.

The name Coven is known by all folk of a certain age for the massive early Seventies hit “One Tin Soldier,” from the one really great Billy Jack film. That song wasn't a Coven recording at all, but was instead the selfsame talented and sexy lead singer, Jinx Dawson, performing with an orchestra for the movie's soundtrack.

Coven was a Chicago group formed in the late Sixties that truly was a seminal act, one that influenced a number of other rock performers of the time, but which suffered from mismanagement, record companies that signed them and then worked against them, and the simple fact that they were just too ahead of their time.

To give you an idea of just how radical the group was for its time, listen to this radio ad (yes, this was intended to be played on good ol' American rock 'n' roll radio) promoting their first LP in 1969:

A few years later parents still would've been outraged, but the band would've been headlining arena shows like the Alice Cooper group and Black Sabbath. Coven came early on the scene, laid the groundwork, and in fact got in trouble several times (from promoters, police, and record labels) while the aforementioned acts were still honing their craft. The three albums they made indicate they were talented and very eclectic in their approach, but their showmanship is lost to the ages, as there appears to be no live footage of the band.

And what exactly are we missing? Well, Coven performed throughout 1968 and '69, doing the songs that wound up on their first album, with a little something extra – a stage show that included excerpts from the Satanic mass, the first known appearance in a rock show of “the sign of the horns,” and a finale that included a Jesus-looking roadie who had been upon a crucifix for the entire show coming down off the cross to turn it upside down as lead singer Jinx hailed Satan.

Yes, not exactly your average “peace-and-love era” performance, but it did predate all of the shock rock spectacles that were to come. In the one informal and friendly group interview that can be found on the Internet – in which Coven members Jinx, drummer Steve Ross, and keyboardist Rick Durrett spoke with deejay “Baron Saturday” on WNYU – Coven's live act was discussed fleetingly, but enough to intrigue. One wishes there was video or film footage of one of these shows so we could see how truly bizarre and blasphemous the band got in its late Sixties heyday.

In the WNYU interview, Dawson and her bandmates describe how their act had such a reputation that, when the band played Detroit, they had to do an afternoon run-through for the mayor (!), who deemed that they could perform their songs but could say nothing in English. That sounds insane – and is – but the band did speak in Latin onstage during their black mass segment; one assumes the mayor didn’t get that the dialogue in Latin was far more “dangerous” than whatever the band might’ve said in English….

To contextualize this, I should note that Coven played on the same bill with major acts of the time, the acts that were themselves deemed subversive at one time or another. Among them were Pink Floyd, the Yardbirds, Deep Purple, Small Faces, the MC5, Iggy and the Stooges, and a group from Detroit called “Alice Cooper” (Jinx declares that the gents in the Cooper group “were “scared” of Coven).

So here we have the stuff of rock legend. While there is apparently no footage of Coven onstage (but there are a few photos), there are various places online where you can read the vivid memories of the fans who saw their act and were amazed by it (or offended, which really is just as good). 

One YouTube poster has taken it upon him/herself to share the group's music and has included among the stash a few rare glimpses at Jinx Dawson in different incarnations. The first and most important (since it seems to stand as Coven's only TV appearance that has survived) is this clip of them doing a spirited lip-synch on an unidentified TV show to their single “Wicked Woman” (which was written by the band).

Although that seems to be about it in terms of footage of the band in their prime (hopefully someone will come up with something else) there is one jarring artifact of Coven at their most extreme, namely their first LP, Witchcraft Destroys Minds and Reaps Souls. The album is a hard rock celebration of all things Satanic, with some tunes that are catchy pop-rock, others pre-metal (which hadn't yet officially begun when the record came out). They have also been hailed as forerunners of “prog.”

My favorite hook-driven number is “The White Witch of Rose Hall,” which was one of several songs written for the album by Jim Donlinger, later a member of the band Lovecraft (who much later became a born-again Christian and who summarized his work with Coven thusly: “It was dark, and it contributed nothing to the world”):

Providing further evidence that some weird and fascinating decisions were made by corporate moguls in the late Sixties and early Seventies, one should consider the fact that this record was released by Mercury Records with a trifold which depicts a Satanic mass, with a naked blonde (who many websites claim is Jinx, but others say is not) lying on an altar as the members of the band conduct a Satanic ritual.

   

The band are also depicted on the back cover giving “the sign of the horns,” and the album's final track is a mini-black mass (written by producer Bill Traut), performed as if in a creepy radio play (think “Lights Out” or “Inner Sanctum”).

Thus all of the Seventies and Eighties bands that claimed adherence to the church of Satan were preceded by Coven, and their records continued to be sold in stores and through the mail – the Witchcraft... LP was pulled by Mercury after it was mentioned in an article in the March 1970 issue of Esquire about the Manson murders and the new “craze” for Satanism called “Evil Lurks in California.”

The album was never officially issued on CD, but is available from Jinx's own label, Nevoc, on eBay (strike that – reverse it...), and the original LP now goes for hefty prices (even in crappy condition). You can hear the album on all the usual platforms before rendering unto Nevoc what is Nevoc's.

Then there's the matter of the band from Birmingham that usually gets credit for bringing the Horned One into rock 'n' roll. This gets debated endlessly on the Internet, with Black Sabbath fans claiming that they took nothing from Coven, while others with a sense of chronology argue that they did.

Suffice it to say that Coven was doing a black mass as part of their live shows for months before the band Earth became Black Sabbath. The two bands later toured together, and it is noted in various places online that in Memphis in 1970 the members of Coven painted inverted crosses in blood on Sabbath's dressing room door (that's one way of dealing with someone who stole your image).

Did I forget to mention that, bizarrely enough, one of the founding members of Coven is a bass player named Oz Osborne? In Rolling Stone, Lester Bangs noted that Sabbath was “something like England's answer to Coven” (adding, with his usual acid sarcasm, “well, they're not that bad, but that's all the credit you can give them”). Here is Sabbath stalwart Tommy Iommi on MTV denying any knowledge of Coven.

And, just to make the coincidences even stronger, the first song on the Witchcraft... album (released when Ozzy and company were still called Earth) is called “Black Sabbath.” (Maybe everyone involved were just gigantic fans of Karloff and Mario Bava?) Here is a fan-made music-video using images from Benjamin Christensen's still-startling 1922 film Haxan.

Now, the question of course is whether Coven really was into Satanism, or had they just discovered a good way to shock the public. In the interview on WNYU, the band maintains that “we lived the whole thing. It wasn’t shtick — we were a practicing coven.” When asked to clarify, it’s noted by Rick Durrett that the band wasn’t Satanic per se, but they were performing magic(k) rituals at the time that they lived together in Chicago and L.A. (they were “definitely” into sex magick, he adds). 

In an earlier solo interview, Dawson told WNYU’S Baron Saturday that she currently has “no religious affiliations.” She is “neither Wiccan nor Satanist,” but is “a ceremonial magician of the left-hand path,” who was initially exposed to this kind of magic from her great-aunt and great-grandfather. She confirmed that the band actively practiced magic all during the recording of the albums, and that the other key members “still practice magic, except for one.”

*****

If Coven were just a gimmick band I wouldn't be writing about them at any length. What's most interesting about them is not only that they staked out new territory that effectively got them banned and drubbed at every turn, but that they made two great albums and one good one. Sure, the black mass included on the Witchcraft... album sounds like a radio play (or, to put it in a more contemporary vein, “performance art”), but the songs written by the band and Jim Donlinger are memorable, and the vocals by Jinx are terrific.

Dawson is a mysterious figure in show business. She was in and out of it for something like three decades (see below), and has reappeared in the last few years as a cult figure, described by many fans on the Net as “the goth metal goddess.” Her cred as a rock vocalist is unquestionable – one or two of the songs on Witchcraft find her sounding a bit like Grace Slick, but by the second album she has her own style and a voice that works beautifully in a number of genres, from hard rock to pop to new wave and syntho-pop, and even country. Ann Wilson has never claimed her as a heroine, but Jinx's rock vocals surely laid the groundwork for what Heart did in the Seventies and Eighties.

She also happens to have remained a stunning looking woman. If the recent pictures posted of her are of a woman who should be 62 or so in human years (and who survived a major heart attack a few years ago), she truly must have a portrait melting somewhere in the attic.

The greatest curiosity about her career, besides the fact that Coven never became an arena-sized act, is that she never became well known as an actress or a model. The “goth” part of her goddess label in fact relates to her glamorous “witchy” look – not many blondes are “goth chicks,” but Dawson seemed to have the look down several decades ago (despite sporting L.A.-ready long blonde hair).

As I noted at the outset of this piece, the reason most of us know her voice is from a track she did as a stray assignment outside of Coven, the Billy Jack theme song “One Tin Soldier.” She got the job because of her connection to Bizarre Productions, a company run by Frank Zappa's manager Herb Cohen (the cousin of Funhouse guest and former Mother of Invention Howard Kaylan!).

The song was written and first recorded by a Canadian band called the Original Caste (snappy!) in 1969. Someone associated with Billy Jack (1971), perhaps Tom Laughlin himself, chose the song and wound up with a theme tune that was a top 10 hit in two separate years ('71 and '73) thanks to the catchiness of the melody and Jinx's powerful vocals.

“One Tin Soldier” was a gigantic fucking hit, and it should've made Jinx Dawson a household name. Instead it spawned a second Coven album that is good, but isn't as powerful as Witchcraft or as earworm-ish as the following LP, Blood on the Snow. The album found them backing away from the Satanic image – although there still is a not-too-hidden “sign of the horns” on the cover.

Whatever transpired, the band did their best to craft a mainstream pop-rock album (with, again, terrific vocals from Jinx). But the people who produced and released the record – who may or may not have included Tom Laughlin himself, since the album is co-produced by someone named “Frank Laughlin,” and that was Tom's onscreen pseudonym as the director of The Trial of Billy Jack – decided to totally “erase” the band from their own record's packaging.

They are not identified by name anywhere on the cover, and their faces were “whited out” on the cover. A commenter who claims to have known one of the band's guitarists insists they were indeed contracted to Laughlin and had to break the contract in order to keep performing here.

For her part, Jinx noted here that the band had a “financial arrangement” with the renegade indie filmmaker (whose recent spate of YouTube videos must be seen to be believed). And the last item I discovered online were pics of the band performing outside a movie theater showing Billy Jack in Milwaukee – if Laughlin was indeed managing their career at this point, he certainly got them some great gigs....

That said, there still are some catchy tracks on the record. Here is one of them, “Lonely Lover."

At this juncture, when talking about Dawson as a performer and person rather than as “the goddess,” I should note that there is one very interesting, touching interview with her that appears on the website for the Indianapolis alternative paper Nuvo. Since so many of the sources on the Internet repeat the same information (or mythology) about Jinx and Coven, this article is enlightening, in that it paints a picture of the real woman behind the “goth metal” image. She reveals that she studied opera at age 9, joined her brother's band (called "Him, Her and Them") at 13, and worked on the Coven stage show as a way to use her opera background in a rock context.

Her family was quite well-known in Indianapolis in the early to mid-20th century, and she in fact moved back to Indy in the late Seventies to work on a “private event and concert venue” situated on “the Dawson Lake and Lodge property” in town.

She then worked with her father on the creation of a gated suburban community, but the centerpiece of the article is surprisingly not her landmark work with Coven, but the experience she had as a caregiver for her father when he got sick with cancer. She lost hundreds of thousands of dollars while caring for him, and the house she lived in (located on Dawson Lake) was lost in a sheriff's auction.

This sobering aspect of her life makes the prospect of a memoir (which she has talked about writing for the last few years) even more interesting. She's spoken in other interviews about her affairs with different rockers, from Jim Morrison to Roger Taylor of Queen, and has even mentioned a fling with Charlie Chaplin (now that really should be chronicled, since “Le petit Charlot” would've been pretty damned old when he met Jinx).

Another article (actually a chapter from what looks to be an independently published book) that paints a very human portrait of the “metal goddess” is this item from the website of Franklin College in Indiana. She talks about the ups and downs of show business, discussing the different moments where she and the band were on the precipice of major fame – including the moment that they turned down producer Neil Bogart's offer to become a made-up, costumed band (an ensemble of “four Alice Coopers” named KISS took up that offer).

She talks about her work as a studio singer (her vocal range is indeed incredible) and how she became a designer of clothing and jewelry for such disparate acts as Led Zeppelin and Barbra Streisand (not forgetting Liza with a Z and Motely Crue); it should be noted that she currently sells magic- and Satanic-related jewelry on eBay. Reflecting on her fortunes and that of the band she declares "I've made some major-league mistakes in my career – at least three of 'em... It seems we were always a little bit early on everything, or a little bit late." 

As with all of the interviews she's done, the Franklin College article not only sketches a fascinating life, but one that intersected with a bunch of different pop-culture movements from the rock-festival world of the late Sixties to the glam Seventies and the “new wave” Eighties. Hopefully Jinx will make good on her promise to write a memoir soon.

In the meantime two clips from other Dawson incarnations. Here is a rare clip of Coven in its reincarnation as a “new wave” band called the Equalizers. With her trademark blonde locks hidden away, she looks like a sorta glam biker chick (and the voice, as ever, is terrific); the band is still an incredible amount of fun:

And, updating this piece since it was initially written (ten years later!), I should note that the barely released horror film “Heaven Can Help” (1989) is now available in its entirety on YouTube. Jinx looks terrific in this film, but it's got a pretty mundane script. It most resembles entries in the Witchcraft franchise (naturally!) that was released straight-to-video in the Nineties:

I want to close out with the best evidence that Coven was a talented band and could've overcome their Satanic image. Their third and final LP, Blood on the Snow (1974), is a terrific concoction produced by the legendary Shel Talmy (who worked with the Kinks, the Who, and the Creation in the Sixties). 

The record includes the band playing in a number of different genres, from gentle pop-rock and country-rock to all-out Satanic harder sounds. Listening to it today one wonders what went wrong – did the record label just not promote it, was it dwarfed by other bigger releases of the time, or was the band just being too eclectic to score with any particular audience?

Whatever the case may be, the record is terrific (though it seems to be out of print entirely on CD as I write this) and definitely qualifies for numerous re-listens (and yes, it arrived on the scene two years before Heart released their first LP).

My favorite song from it isn't “hard” or Satanic at all, it's “This Song's For All Your Children,” a sweet, peace-and-love (gasp!) type of tune. It's a catchy recording that sounds a lot like the AM hits that Todd Rundgren had in the early Seventies, and it definitely demonstrates that Coven could've, and should've, had Top 40 hit singles.

The third track on the album is another light, MOR tune that sounds positively country-fied. “Lady O” (not to be confused with the Judee Sill song recorded by the Turtles) offers another example of Jinx's vocal versatility.

“I Need a Hundred of You” is another great pop song that foreshadows the kind of thing that was done by Stevie Nicks and Christine McVie in the “Buckingham Nicks” iteration of Fleetwood Mac – which began a year after “Blood on the Snow” was released. Here is the song accompanied by yet another great fan-made photo montage:

It has been lamented by the present-day music critics who revisit the three Coven albums that the band was just shuffled too much from label to label (four labels in a half-dozen years, since the “One Tin Soldier” single was on a label, Warner, that never released a Coven album). They had a following at the time they were making records, as is evidenced by the folks online who fondly remember their live Satanic “rock opera” shows (Jinx's phrase), but aside from the Billy Jack single, massive fame eluded them.

The upside of the cult that has arisen around the band online is that, according to Jinx's Facebook posts, the group is recording their first album in close to four decades. God knows (oops, Lucifer is aware) that Jinx still looks terrific and sounded wonderful in the one release that saw the light of day since Blood on the Sun, a CD (again, seemingly waaaay out of print) called Metal Goth Queen – Out of the Vault, which contained later Dawson tracks (including a synth dance number!).

I will say I'm looking forward to the reappearance of Coven, whether they put on a blasphemous stage show or not. Here is track from that “Metal Goth Queen” collection, another earworm-ish item, called “Come Out of the Rain.” Since I write this on the week before Halloween, I embed this video not just because the song is catchy rock, but because the fan-made video is made up of images from the b&w “haunted nanny” years of Dark Shadows!

The video I must close out his “survey” post with is the publicity film made for “Blood on the Snow.” Coven definitely loved “transgressing,” and so, even while they were releasing an album with several extremely radio-friendly tracks, they created a little film for the album's closing song that is purely Satanic.

The band has spoken about how the film was funded somehow by Disney, and this early “music video” was, naturally enough, shelved and never seen on American TV – for the reasons why, just take a look (and try to place yourself back in 1974). Now we can rejoice in it 365 days a year, but it seems particularly appropriate on Halloween.

UPDATE: My review of the new Coven album, Jinx, is here.