Face To Face

Release info: Produced by: Shel Talmy Release date: 28 Oct, 1966 Record label & catalog #: Pye NSPL 18149 Country: UK Format: 12" vinyl LP (album), 33 1/3 RPM Release type: Regular release Description/Notes: stereo mix

Tracks:

Side 1
1. Party Line		stereo mix (2:32), recorded Apr 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
2. Rosy Won't You Please Come Home		stereo mix (2:28), recorded May 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
3. Dandy		stereo mix (2:08), recorded probably Jan 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
4. Too Much On My Mind		stereo mix (2:25), recorded Apr 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
5. Session Man		stereo mix (2:07), recorded May 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
6. Rainy Day In June		stereo mix (3:12), recorded May 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
7. House In The Country		mono mix (2:59), recorded Apr-May 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
Side 2
1. Holiday In Waikiki		stereo mix (2:43), recorded May 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
2. Most Exclusive Residence For Sale		stereo mix (2:49), recorded Apr 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
3. Fancy		stereo mix (2:25), recorded 14 May, 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
4. Little Miss Queen Of Darkness		stereo mix (3:13), recorded 21 Jun, 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
5. You're Looking Fine		stereo mix (2:43), recorded 29 or 30 Dec, 1965 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
6. Sunny Afternoon		mono mix (3:31), recorded 13 May, 1966 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London
7. I'll Remember		mono mix (2:25), recorded Oct 1965 at Pye Studios (No. 2), London

Liner Notes:

It has been said by mercenary - minded persons that upon setting out along life's road the bread, the filthy lucre of W. Shakespeare of highly regarded memory would seem to be the thing to go for.

So if you accept the opinion of these aforesaid persons in the spirit in which it is given and get cracking you get the loot.

So what next?

So far on your passage through this vale of tears you have been a hick, a nothing and an unheralded nobody. To be a well respected man must be your next aim, and with the loot in your pocket and the wicked world being what it is,

You become a well respected personage ere you know it.

Then comes dedication to the dictates of fashion. The Carnaby Street. The striped natty suiting. Touches of velvet upon the collar. Touches of lace upon the underwear.

And of course ties of polka dot and Persian--originated Paisley pattern.

Next? Country house, yacht, powered by sail and/or steam, with the motor car in lurid colour and with white walls to its wheels smiling in the golden gravel drive.

Ladies of course. Ladies with long legs and little bosom, hair the colour of corn, very mini, very skinny dresses. Status symbol ladies with rich dark sheen in the depths of the skin.

Dwindling in the end to one lady, one Special who gets in among the soul.

The trouble being that the perfect woman becomes a bore, like having venus de Milo constantly upon one's hands.

So angry words are spoken, and she of golden hair and mini skirt, half woman, half thighs leaves. With car. Back to ma and pa. With tales of drunkeness and cruelty.

As if this is not enough, fate flings its last custard pie.

The taxman cometh.

And you are left with the glass of ice cold beer, and the sun on the uplands with dappled shadows and all, which is much better, as the poet has it than a poke up the nostril with a burnt stick.

(Now read on).

Raymond Douglas Davies, a musician, not forgetting David, his hith and kin.

Peter Quaife, bass guitar who once wrote a story about an embarrasing affliction from which Rays grandfather suffered for over forty years.

And Michael Avory, drummer and the possessor of four shoes, two for each foot,

have continued the story. And stories parallel to his sad one.

About the frustration of the telephone, About rainy days and sunny days, about sessions men and dark ladies, about P.V.C. grass skirts in Waikiki, about memories, and dandies, and most of all about the breadwinner who was in the beginning, who lost all, sold his most exclusive residence, and passes into the bosom of his fathers.

Frank Smyth, Autumn 1966

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