By 1971, the Move had, quite literally, moved on. The halcyon days of classic records like 'Night Of Fear' and 'Blackberry Way' were well behind them and plans were already afoot to dissolve the band into a new Electric Light Orchestra, as soon as the time was right.
Financing an eight-piece touring band, however, was a real problem, and the band needed capital. A new album would have to be produced under the still-bankable Move brand, with a couple of catchy hit singles to put some icing on the cake and put the group's stars back in the limelight. With a demo already cut for ELO's debut single, 10538 Overture, the group were feeling experimental and, with the band's demise imminent, there is a definite end-of-term revelry present on Message From The Country (Harvest).
Despite some seriously progressive workouts and a couple of moderately duff novelty songs, the emphasis on this final album is firmly on having fun. Both Jeff Lynne and Roy Wood were studio-dwelling creatures, and it shows on this set, where their credentials as Birmingham's own Lennon and McCartney (that is, if you don't count Noddy Holder and Jimmy Lea's partnership) are firmly cemented.
Message From The Country is the opening title track, and understandably the instrumentation is rather more sparse than on previous albums. This actually works in its favour; the chiming bassplaying makes it rock much harder, and is beautifully augmented by some Bee Gees-esque harmonies, the likes of which would become the backbone of the later ELO sound. As an opener, it couldn't be further from 'Flowers In The Rain'.
These same driving rhythms can be found on the Arabian-influenced It Wasn't My Idea To Dance, which probably goes on a tad too long despite some hilariously nonsensical lyrics. Ella James, another Roy Wood composition, is a corking rocker of a song with a bluesy flavour, which really thumps along, as does the fun Until Your Mother's Gone,a nifty twelve-bar blues played predominantly on bass guitars with a rasping woodwind coda hinting gently at Wizzard'a future glories.
There is more to Message From The Country than deafening Brummie wigouts, though. The poignant No Time is a gentle Lynne composition referencing, of all things, the 1969 collapse of the Emley Moor transmitter, perhaps the only song to ever do so! It's all gorgeous harmonies, lovely guitar picking and dual recorders straight out of The Fool On The Hill. The duo's clear love of the Beatles shines through on this and, perhaps more tellingly, on The Minister,which retreads the same path as Paperback Writer a bit too closely.
Something else which the Beatles did (and which wasn't necessarily right) was to let the drummer sing. Bev Bevan takes front stage on the C&W pastiche Ben Crawley Steel Company, which sounds exactly like one of Ringo's songs, except to say that Bevan's bizarrely cavernous tone makes it sound like it's been sung by Lee Marvin. Bevan redeems himself by letting Wood sing the lead vocal on his own composition Don't Mess Me Up, one of several 'comedy' moments on the album, where Wood reimagines Elvis with a detectable Midlands accent. An army of multi-tracked Jeff Lynnes makes a convincing appearance as the Jordanaires, and Bevan's deep voice does all the be-bop bits. Oh, and sensitive listeners may be startled at 1:43 when somebody appears to shout 'wank!' for no apparent reason.
More comedy closes the album, with the music-hall pastiche My Marge, which reminds me of the Goons for some reason. Probably a revelrous jam session rather than a serious track, it's an odd choice of album closer, but somehow not altogether unexpected. All in all, then: a bit of a jumble, punctated with some brilliant songsmanship.
If you like this album, you should also check out the Move's 1971 singles 'Tonight' and 'Chinatown'. Together these are to Lynne and Wood's songwriting partnership as 'Paperback Writer' and 'Strawberry Fields Forever' were to the Beatles, and far more commercial than anything on the album. Tonight is a raucous acoustic rocker, with folky roots and a sunny melody, one of my favourite 'summertime' records ever. Wood's occasionally-shrill vocal may sound at times like a magpie in the early throes of courtship, but Lynne takes the lead on the final verse which provides an excellent foil. Chinatown, meanwhile, is another vocal duet, and a solid toe-tapper with some beautifully recorded guitars and a nifty cowbell hook. It does, however, rely on some rather worn musical clichés (of which the old 'ching-chong-chinaman' melody is the worst offender.)
Finally, you may also enjoy the Move's actual swansong, the 1972 top ten single California Man, which caught the moment of the early 70s 1950s revival at eac the right time. It could even be considered as a prototype Wizzard single, with its energetic piano and parping sax. Its B-side, Down On The Bay, is equally retro, sounding like the Beach Boys shot through the prism of the Beatles' Revolution.
