The Magic Fish by Alan Mills: A Little Slice of 1972 Magic
Let’s talk about The Magic Fish, a quirky little album from 1972 that somehow still feels like it belongs in your grandma’s record collection—or maybe just tucked away in some dusty corner of an elementary school library. This isn’t your typical music album; it’s more like a storytime session with a beat. Alan Mills, the man behind this gem, teamed up with director Bernice Chardiet and producer Robert Mack to create something that’s equal parts charming and delightfully odd. Released under Scholastic Records (yep, the same folks who gave us all those book fairs), this children’s album leans hard into its storytelling roots.
Now, let’s dive into the tracks—or should I say, the track? Because honestly, there are only two songs listed here: “The Magic Fish” and “The Magic Fish (continued).” It’s basically one big tale split into two parts, which makes it feel less like an album and more like someone hit ‘pause’ mid-story. But hey, don’t knock it till you’ve heard it.
“The Magic Fish” kicks things off with Alan Mills’ warm, grandfatherly voice pulling you right in. The story itself is simple but enchanting—a fisherman catches a magical fish that grants wishes, but greed gets in the way, as it often does. What sticks with me is how Mills delivers the lines. He doesn’t just narrate; he acts. You can practically hear him leaning forward, eyes wide, as he describes the shimmering scales of the fish or the gruff frustration of the fisherman’s wife. There’s no auto-tune or fancy effects—just raw, unfiltered storytelling that hits different in today’s hyper-produced world.
Then comes “The Magic Fish (continued),” where things get wilder. If part one sets the stage, part two cranks up the drama. Without giving too much away, let’s just say the stakes rise faster than a kid reaching for the last cookie. The pacing keeps you hooked, even if the moral lesson is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Still, there’s something oddly comforting about hearing these old-school tales told with such sincerity.
What makes this album stick in my brain? Maybe it’s the simplicity. In a world full of flashy visuals and endless distractions, The Magic Fish reminds you how powerful a good story can be when paired with a bit of music. Or maybe it’s the nostalgia factor—it’s easy to imagine kids sitting cross-legged on a classroom floor, completely mesmerized by Alan Mills’ voice crackling through a scratchy record player.
Here’s the kicker, though: listening to this now feels almost rebellious. Like, who even makes albums like this anymore? We live in an age where everything has to be Instagrammable or TikTok-worthy, yet here’s The Magic Fish, stubbornly refusing to care about any of that. And honestly? That’s kinda beautiful.
So, would I recommend this album? Absolutely—if you’re looking for something wholesome, nostalgic, and just plain weird enough to make you smile. Just don’t expect anything flashy. Sometimes, the magic lies in keeping it simple. Oh, and fun fact: I bet Bernice Chardiet never imagined her work would end up being dissected on the internet decades later. Life’s funny like that.
