The 500 - #114 - Disraeli Gears - Cream

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:114
Album Title: Disraeli Gears
Artist: Cream
Genre: Psychedelic Rock, Blues Rock, Hard Rock
Recorded: Atlantic Recording Studios, New York, U.S.A.

Released: November, 1967
My age at release: 2
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #170, dropping 56 places

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Sunshine Of Your Love

At the risk of sounding like a cranky old-timer, I’d like to take you back to a time when buying concert tickets didn’t involve a glowing screen or a stable internet connection. Long before Ticketmaster.com, and even before phoning in an order became the norm, a ticket buyer had to show up...in person...to claim a spot in a line where you hoped to secure a seat at to upcoming show.

In London, Ontario, in the 1980s, that ritual almost always led to one place: Sam The Record Man, in the heart of downtown. It was there, amid the racks of vinyl, that music fandom required patience, persistence and, sometimes, a 5 a.m. arrival time, even in cold or rainy weather.

A ticket line-up outside Sam The Record Man in London. 
This location predates the one I visited, half a block away

It was a chilly spring morning, around 6 o’clock in 1986 when my longtime chum Jeff Ceaser and I arrived at the front doors of Sam’s, determined to be first in line. Our mission was clear -- get tickets to see the supergroup GTR at Toronto’s legendary Massey Hall that summer.

GTR promotional photo - the rest of the band
featured three talented, but lesser known, British
Musicians - Max Bacon, Phil Spalding and Jonathan Mover.

GTR were a short‑lived British rock outfit built around two guitar heroes from our favourite bands – Steve Howe, a founding member of Yes and Steve Hackett, lead guitarist for Genesis from 1970 to 1977, who hooked up with Bacon, Spalding and Mover. This was an irresistible proposition for teen-age prog-rock obsessives like us.

The five-man group’s debut, self-titled record had spawned an oddly pop‑leaning single, When the Heart Rules the Mind. This was a song clearly engineered for radio success and unbeknownst to us at the time, destined to become a one‑hit wonder, relegated to the dustbin of Gen X music memory.

We suspected our pre-dawn arrival would put us first in line, but as we approached the record store, we spotted two figures in the doorway alcove. Disappointed, we made our way to their location and then realized that we recognized them. I didn't know Scott (Lupasko) or Dave (Adamick) well, as they were a few years younger. But I had interacted with them casually at their various part-time high school jobs. They had worked at a burger place and a gas station in the mall beside our high school. They were also well regarded as talented musicians and music lovers, so it wasn't surprising to find them lining up for tickets to see the two guitar virtuoso

The Steves (Hackett and Howe) who's union
created the "supergroup" GTR - an abbreviation of Guitar.

As the four of us chatted, waiting for the record store and ticket booth to open four hours hence, I really began to connect with them. They were friendly, intelligent and knowledgeable, with terrific and varied tastes in music. "A couple of good blokes" as my British cousins would say. Somewhere in our conversations I revealed that I wrote poetry that could become song lyrics and they mentioned they had formed a band and were looking for a lyricist and singer. Perhaps I could bring my poetry, my voice and maybe even my saxophone to a music rehearsal space to jam with them.

Shot of Scott (left) and Dave in our high-school smoking pit with friends.

Some time later, I found myself making my way to a dilapidated part of the city, a largely abandoned pocket of industrial buildings and warehouses tucked beneath an overpass and hard up against the Canadian National (CN) railway tracks that cut through London. It was the kind of place that felt forgotten, vaguely forbidding, and perfectly suited to loud music and...dubious, if not criminal, choices. The buildings are still there, but the neighbourhood has been thoroughly transformed. What was once grit and rust has since been scrubbed clean and gentrified, now home to craft brewpubs and boutique fitness studios and rock-climbing gyms.

2025 Google Street View photo of the warehouse we used as a jam space.

I should have known I was out of my depth the moment I arrived. As I climbed the stairs to the rehearsal space, I could already hear Scott, Dave and their drummer, Chris Johnson. They were sensational. The three of them were effortlessly noodling their way through an improvised blues jam, locked in and clearly far more accomplished than I’d dared to imagine. I really should have feigned an illness and quietly retreated. But with youthful bravado fully deployed, I pressed on, stepping into the concrete bunker of a studio clutching my juvenile, but heartfelt, lyrics in one hand and my saxophone in the other.

Me (right) in 1986. Dave O'Leary (also a talented musician)
to the left.

It didn't take long for us to realize that my saxophone playing was not a fit. I am an okay player, but only if I have the sheet music and a few hours to practice. However, I was unable to transpose on the fly and my horn, tuned to E-flat, didn't work with the band’s instruments, effortlessly being jammed in a variety of keys. Since then, I have learned to carry a handy chart with me and use it as a cheat sheet during jams, but still prefer to know the music and have the score on a stand in front of me.

Transposition Chart.

"Why don't you sing a couple songs?" was the next suggestion. A Battle of the Bands was to be held at Mingles Tavern in a month and the trio was rehearsing two well known ‘60s songs. The first was Voodoo Chile, an acid rock classic from The Jimi Hendrix Experience, and the second came from this week's Cream record, Disraeli Gears, a psychedelic blues rock track dubbed Sunshine Of Your Love.

Cover jacket for the single, Sunshine Of Your Love.

Disraeli Gears was the second studio recording from British hard and psychedelic rock pioneers Cream. I wrote a brief account of the band in my July, 2024, post for their third record, Wheels of Fire, which appears at position #205 on The 500. I'll write again about the group in 13 weeks when we get to their debut record, Fresh Cream (#102).

Fresh Cream album jacket (1966).

The title, Disraeli Gears, has its origins in a misheard expression. When recording in 1967, guitarist Eric Clapton mentioned to a member of the band's crew that his bicycle had "derailleur gears" -- a term for the shifting mechanism on a multi-speed bike. The crew member, Mick Turner, either genuinely misheard Clapton or playfully riffed that they were "Disraeli Gears", named after Victorian British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881).

Back in that concrete and metal jam space, I tried my best to sing. In retrospect, I should have tackled Sunshine Of Your Love in my own voice, instead of trying to mimic Cream bassist and vocalist Jack Bruce. I think I could have pulled it off. That said, I was clearly not up to the level of talent that surrounded me. I was more than a weak link, I was a gear (Disraeli or derailleur) that needed to be replaced. Saving further embarrassment, I sacked myself before the Battle of the Bands event at Mingles. Dave, Scott and Chris soldiered on with Dave singing Cream and Hendrix songs that afternoon...far better than I’d managed. I was happy for their success, despite my bruised ego.

Entrance to Mingles and Talbot Inn, long since demolished to
make space for the city's Junior A Hockey rink and concert venue - 
now dubbed the Canada Life Centre.

The trio would go on to form their first band, Aura. They were all still high-school age In fact, they needed to wear special wrist bands when playing at Mingles to alert staff they were not of legal drinking age -- 19 in Ontario, Canada.

Poster for a performance by Aura, May 1988.

Not long after, the group expanded and rebranded as Poor Folk, now a five‑piece. Dave and Scott remained on guitar and bass, while Chris stepped out from behind the drum kit and into the spotlight as lead vocalist. The lineup was completed by Chris’s brother Mark on guitar and Tom Sanford on drums.

Poor Folk, Sanford is not with the band at this time, pictured
far left was temporary drummer Brent Blazieko.

For a time, Poor Folk became a weekly fixture at Hanover’s, a local pub in the Westmount Mall complex, which also housed the burger joint and gas station where Scott and Dave worked. Poor Folk developed a dedicated following, which was not surprising because each member of the band was impressively talented. They provided me with indisputable evidence that my most appropriate role in their musical ecosystem was that of an applauding audience member.

Westmount Mall in 1975, featuring the loveable, but tough, 
Cliff who was the security guard throughout my high-school years.

I've stayed in touch with Scott over the years and finally got a chance to reconnect with him last summer when he visited Canada. He and Dave went on an epic world travelling adventure after university and both landed in England to explore the music scene. It is there where they ultimately settled -- Scott in York and Dave in Essex, just outside London. I appreciate the help Scott gave me, through numerous text messages and shared pictures, as I wrote this post and tried to retrace a 40-year-old memory that began with a five-hour wait, and conversation outside Sam The Record Man in downtown London.

The 500 - #116 - Out Of Our Heads - The Rolling Stones

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:116
Album Title: Out Of Our Heads
Artist: The Rolling Stones
Genre: Blues Rock, British R&B, Blue Eyed Soul, Rock and Roll
Recorded: Multiple Studios in London, Chicago, Los Angeles

Released: U.S. Version released July, 1965
My age at release: 19 days
How familiar was I with it before this week: Somewhat
Is it on the 2020 list? No

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: I Can't Get No (Satisfaction)

Many years ago, I received a birthday card styled as the front page of a newspaper. It featured the major events of 1965, my birth year,  along with pop‑culture trivia and a roster of celebrities born on the same day. It looked something like this version I found on the internet:

The #1 hit on U.S. radio charts on the day I was born was (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction by The Rolling Stones, which was released as a single a month before their third studio record, Out Of Our Heads, hit shelves. It was the first of eight #1 singles for the English rockers and one of 23 to hit the Top 10. Initially, it was only played on underground, pirate radio stations because the lyrics, which reference sexual frustration and commercialism, were deemed too provocative for public airways.

Album jacked for the single release of (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction.

The song begins with one of the most recognizable guitar riffs in modern music and it was one that would influence rock and roll bands for years. Before 1965, riffs were cleanly toned, blues-based and served the vocal melody.

Guitarist Keith Richard's fuzz-soaked repetitive hook flipped that script. The riff became the focus of the song, and everything else hung off it. That approach to song writing became the blueprint for future superstar bands, including Led Zeppelin, The Who, Aerosmith, AC/DC and every hopeful garage band rocker since.

Richard's legendary riff as a music score and guitar tab.

Legend has it the riff came to Richards in his sleep. He later said he didn’t even realize he’d written it until the next morning when he found his Phillips cassette recorder beside his acoustic guitar. On the tape were about two minutes of guitar playing, including the now‑famous riff, followed by the sound of his pick dropping to the floor and roughly 40 minutes of snoring.

Keith Richards in 1965.

A popular ice‑breaker I've encountered at staff meetings and education conferences borrows from the world of boxing and pro wrestling, where fighters enter the arena to loud, high‑energy “entrance music.”

Whenever the question about my “entrance music” comes up, I usually default to something heavy and brash from Rage Against the Machine or Soundgarden. However, I think that needs to change. Satisfaction was literally the song filling the air on the day I entered the world, so it feels right to honour that coincidence and make it my choice the next time I’m asked. The riff certainly works, even if the lyrics cast me as a bit of a pessimist.

Granted, there are some other, ironic and funny Top 10 choices for entrance music that also turned 60 last summer.

I Can't Help Myself - The Four Tops
What The World Needs Now Is Love - Del Shannon

What's New Pussycat? - Tom Jones

Yes I'm Ready - Barbara Mason

Mr. Tambourine Man - The Byrds

How about you? What songs were in the Top 10 the month you were born?

Would any make a powerful, or comedic, impact as your "entrance music"?

The 500 - #117 - Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs - Derek and the Dominos

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album #:117
Album Title: Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs
Artist: Derek and the Dominos
Genre: Blues Rock
Recorded: Criteria Studios (Miami, Florida)

Released: November, 1970
My age at release: 5
How familiar was I with it before this week: Quite well
Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #226, dropping 109 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Layla

In a way, the story of this record, the only release from British blues rock sextet Derek and The Dominos, begins in the west Arabian Peninsula during the 7th Century.

Bedouin poet Qays ibn al-Moullawwah was just a boy tending flocks of sheep with his cousin, Layla. The pair belonged to the Banu Amir tribe, and their early bonding blossomed into a deep, but forbidden love as they became adults. Their relationship gave rise to a legend and then a poem titled majnūn laylā, sometimes anglicized to Layla and Majnun, but better translated to Layla's Mad Lover.

A modern sketch of al-Moullawwah by
Lebanese-American poet Khalil Gibran.

As the story goes, when al-Moullawwah and Layla fell in love as adolescents, he began composing poems about his feelings for her – feelings which became obsessive. Some locals began calling him "Majnun" -- which translates to "mentally unhinged".

Undaunted, al-Moullawwah asked for her hand in marriage. Her father refused and, shortly after, forcibly married her off to a noble and rich merchant of the Thaqif tribe in the city of Ta'if -- a city that still exists in Saudi Arabia.

When word of her marriage reached Majnun, he fled the tribal camp and vanished into the desert. His family, despairing of his return, left food for him among the rocks and scrub. Those who passed through the wilderness claimed they saw him wandering alone, reciting poetry aloud or carving verses in the sand with a slender stick.

Majnun in the Wilderness -- unknown artist.

Layla moved to a place in Northern Arabia with her husband, where she became ill and died. In some versions, she dies of heartbreak from not being able to see her beloved. Majnun was later found dead in the wilderness in 688 AD, near Layla's grave. He had, reportedly, carved three verses of poetry on a rock nearby They are the last three verses attributed to him.

Part of a poem composed after Layla's
marriage and before Majnun's descent
into madness.

The story of Layla and Majnun has inspired more than a thousand years of artistic creation across cultures, languages and art forms. Originating in 7th‑century Arabic poetry, it was transformed into one of the great masterpieces of Persian literature by Nizami Ganjavi and went on to influence poets from India to the Ottoman world.

The legend has been adapted into operas, ballets, plays, films, miniature paintings and modern dance works, and it continues to shape contemporary storytelling. In Western culture, its theme echoes in works such as Romeo and Juliet and in other stories, including the ill-fated Abelard and Heloise.

In particular, the theme is incorporated in modern popular music, most famously by Eric Clapton and Jim Gordon, whose composition, Layla, appears on this week's record by Derek and the Dominos. Across time and geography, the story endures as a powerful symbol of forbidden love, artistic obsession, and the idea that love itself can become a form of mad devotion.

Layla single album jacket,

Derek and the Dominos were a short‑lived but hugely influential blues‑rock band formed in spring,1970, by Eric Clapton, alongside Bobby Whitlock (keyboards, vocals), Carl Radle (bass), and Jim Gordon (drums). All four musicians had previously played together in Delaney & Bonnie and Friends, a touring soul‑rock ensemble that Clapton joined after the breakup of his high‑profile supergroup Blind Faith.

Delaney & Bonnie Bramlett were an American husband
and wife duo who performed soul, rock, blues and country music.

Wanting to escape the pressure and celebrity attached to his name, Clapton adopted the alias “Derek” so the group could function as a more anonymous, collaborative band rather than a star‑led project. The group solidified while backing George Harrison on sessions for All Things Must Pass (#433 on The 500) and soon began recording their own music in Miami with guest guitarists Duane Allman and Dave Mason.

Clapton (left) with Allman in 1970.

The band released just one studio album, Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, which is now regarded as one of the greatest albums in rock history. Despite the creative success, Derek and the Dominos fell apart in 1971, less than a year after forming. The breakup was driven by a combination of factors: severe drug addiction (especially Clapton’s heroin use), internal tensions, exhaustion from touring, and emotional strain following Duane Allman’s death, which happened within a year of this release. Attempts to record a second album collapsed, and the group quietly dissolved without a formal announcement. Although brief, Derek and the Dominos left a lasting legacy, defined by raw emotional intensity and a single monumental recording.

Allman died following a motorcycle crash, he was 24.

In tracing the arc from the ancient Arabic poem to Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, the connection becomes more than a clever literary reference: it becomes a shared emotional architecture. The legend of Layla and Majnun is not simply a story about romance, but about love that cannot be acted upon, love that survives only through expression. Majnun’s devotion is rendered through poetry whispered to himself, traced in desert sand and finally, painfully, carved into stone. Centuries later, Eric Clapton encountered this same emotional aching in his own life when he fell in love with model Pattie Boyd who was married to his best mate and Beatle, George Harrison.

Boyd in a photo shoot - 1968.

The song Layla functions as a direct emotional translation of the poem rather than a retelling of its plot. Its urgent opening riff captures obsession and desperation, while its famous coda slows into resignation and longing, perhaps mirroring the two emotional states of Majnun’s journey from pursuit to acceptance. Across the album, Clapton and the Dominos repeatedly circle the same themes found in the Arabic tradition. Love is represented as fixation, suffering and, ultimately, something that can reshape identity rather than resolve itself.

George Harrison and Pattie Boyd wedding (1966).

In both stories, the beloved Layla is not fully possessed, yet becomes immortal through art. Ultimately, the recording of Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs demonstrates how ancient stories persist not only because they have been preserved, but because they are perpetually re‑felt.

Clapton did not borrow the name Layla to decorate a song. Instead, he recognized himself in Majnun’s condition. In a way, the album stands as proof that across cultures, centuries and languages, the same truth about love unfulfilled. If it cannot be lived, it can be preserved in poetry, visual art and music. It can become something that outlasts the emotions that inspired it. In that sense, the poetry scratched into shifting desert sands and a 1970 rock album are doing the same work. Both are bearing witness to a love that could not be resolved.

CODA

Boyd divorced Harrison in 1977 and married Clapton in 1979. However, that marriage lasted only a decade. In 1991, she met property developer Ron Weston, whom she married in 2015. They are still together.

There are seven Harrison and Clapton songs specifically written about Boyd (Listed below). Every one of them is on an album that is on The 500 list. I wonder if Weston has any on his playlists?

I Need You - The Beatles (1965)

If I Needed Someone - The Beatles (1965)

Something - The Beatles (1969)

For You Blue - The Beatles (1970)

Layla - Derek and the Dominos (1970)

Bell Bottom Blues - Derek and the Dominos (1970)

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton (1977)

The 500 - #124 - Moby Grape - Moby Grape

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #124
Album Title: Self-Titled Debut
Artist: Moby Grape
Genre: Psychedelic Rock, Power Pop, Country Rock
Recorded: CBC Studios, Hollywood, California

Released: June, 1967

My age at release: 1
How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all
Is it on the 2020 list? No
Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: 8:05

Moby Grape album cover for their debut release

Features the band and manager Matthew Katz

I had never heard of Moby Grape. Not a song, not a story, not even a passing reference. The name might as well have been a lesser known character from one of Hanna‑Barbera's many animated series. Moby Grape could have been a chum of the character Jabberjaw or a participant in the Wacky Races animated series, riding alongside Penelope Pitstop as they try to overtake Dick Dastardly.

Some of the Hanna Barbera characters.

When I mentioned the band's name to my wife, she logically assumed I was talking about a new record called Grape, by the electronica, trip-hop artist Moby. 

Album cover for Play, by Moby - at #341 on The 500.

Shortly after I posted on social media that Moby Grape’s 1967 debut was next up in my journey through 2012 ‘s Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Albums, something surprising happened. A few friends, who know music well, let me know that they had only recently discovered the group, or were familiar with just a few songs by them. In all cases, they had become fans of the American rock band from San Francisco.

Back in the 1960s, the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco was the
epicenter for counter-culture, psychedelia and music.

And once you start digging, you realize how strange that Moby Grape slipped through the cracks for so many of us. Their debut record, released on June 6, 1967, by Columbia Records, was recorded in just six weeks and blended psychedelic rock, power pop, country rock, blues, and folk. The group was a rarity, featuring laser‑tight musicianship from five members, all of whom sang and contributed to the song writing.

Critics at the time recognized the band’s versatility. The record contains short, punchy rock songs, including Hey Grandma, Mr. Blues and Omaha. But also has contrasting gentle acoustic moments and harmonies that brushed up against country‑rock before the genre even had a name. The album peaked at #24 on the Billboard 200 in 1967. It was a respectable achievement, though far from capturing the heights of recognition that even artists in the music power hub of San Francisco felt they deserved.

Album jacket for the single release of Hey Grandma and
Come In The Morning.

The band was a kind of supergroup, assembled out of the rising mid‑'60s West Coast explosion. Formed in late 1966, the lineup brought together three gifted guitarists -- Jerry Miller, Peter Lewis, and Canadian‑born Skip Spence. Bassist Bob Mosley and drummer Don Stevenson rounded out the quintet. All five wrote, sang, and played, which gave them an almost over‑abundance of creative energy. Their early shows around San Francisco generated a buzz strong enough to spark a bidding war among labels, ultimately landing them at Columbia.

Moby Grape (l-r) Spence, Miller, Mosley, Lewis, Stevenson.

So, what went wrong, and how did we miss them? Given the talent and buzz, the band should’ve been unstoppable. Yet everything seemed to go wrong at once. Their manager, Matthew Katz, created years of legal and personal turmoil, including battles over the band’s own name, while Columbia Records sabotaged the album’s momentum by releasing five singles on the same day, confusing radio stations and diluting what should’ve been a breakthrough.

On top of that, Skip Spence’s mental health rapidly declined, and he was hospitalized. Add in the internal conflict among five songwriters pulling in different directions; their arrival in the chaotic San Francisco scene where psychedelic giants favored long jams over Moby Grape’s tight, punchy songs -- and their downfall starts to look tragically inevitable. They made one extraordinary record, filled with the sound of a band that could’ve shaped the era, and, then, through a mix of mismanagement, misfires, and sheer bad luck, the opportunity for greatness slipped away.

Canadian drummer Alexander "Skip" Spence was considered
a bright light of the psychedelic scene. He played on records with
Jefferson Airplane, Quicksilver Messager Service, as well as Moby Grape.

One friend told me that although he was aware Moby Grape existed, he did not follow them further because of the group’s name. He reasoned  that "because of the silly name, they would be a bunch of hippy posers trying to latch onto the San Francisco psychedelic scene". The name itself is a punch line to an equally silly joke that the band had bantered about one day: "What's big and purple and lives in the sea?" A: "Moby Grape."

This got me thinking: "Which bands sound nothing like their name?" Some groups choose monikers that telegraph their genre. Metallica, Slayer and Motorhead sound exactly like the thunderous metal you'd expect. Their names practically scream distortion pedals and black T‑shirts. But plenty of other bands picked names that give you zero clues about what they actually sound like.

A few that always come to mind for me are:

Hoobastank, who sound like hard rock or nu-metal, but actually wrote the emotional ballad The Reason, which has become a standard at weddings.

Vampire Weekend sound like a goth-emo collective or a metal band sporting fake blood and capes. They are actually write preppy, upper‑east‑side indie jams with Afro‑pop guitars and collegiate charm.

The Violent Femmes conjure images of a west coast all-female "Riot Grrrl" punk rock quartet who write songs with unapologetic feminist fury. Instead, they play a mix of acoustic, folk-inspired punk with lyrics that are more quirky and clever than violent or angry.

How about you?

Are you familiar with Moby Grape?

What bands do, or don't sound like their name?

Despite the talent, the praise, the songs, and the promise,  Moby Grape somehow remained a band many of us only discovered by accident, decades later. However, this entire musical journey by blog has been one of discovery, and Moby Grape is now part of my extensive listening catalogue.