Faces And Places Vol 7 by Soft Machine: A Wild Ride Through Jazz-Rock Wonderland
Let’s just say it straight—Soft Machine’s Faces And Places Vol 7 is like that weird cousin who shows up at family gatherings wearing tie-dye and quoting poetry no one understands. Released in 1972, this album feels like a time capsule from an era when jazz met rock, shook hands, and decided to throw a psychedelic party. With its roots tangled deep in prog rock, jazz-rock, and even hints of psychedelia, it's not your average listen. It’s messy, unpredictable, and kinda brilliant.
First off, can we talk about the lineup? You’ve got Robert Wyatt on drums AND vocals (the guy’s got range), Mike Ratledge tickling keys like he owns them, Daevid Allen shredding lead guitar with his usual cosmic flair, and Kevin Ayers laying down basslines so groovy they could make a statue dance. Throw in Giorgio Gomelsky as producer and Dominique Broc handling design duties, and you’ve got yourself a recipe for something… well, unique.
Now let’s get into the tracks because that’s where things really get wild. I’ll start with “Jet-Propelled Photograph.” This tune hits you right away—it’s got this jazzy shuffle but then BAM! Outta nowhere comes this fuzzed-out guitar riff that sounds like someone unplugged reality for a second. The way Wyatt sings over it all is just perfect; his voice has this raw vulnerability, like he’s telling you secrets only he knows. Every time I hear it, I imagine some grainy black-and-white footage of a rocket launching into space while hippies cheer in slow motion. Weird image, yeah, but trust me, it fits.
Then there’s “She’s Gone,” which is basically the emotional gut-punch of the album. It starts soft, almost too gentle, lulling you into thinking everything’s fine. But then the organ kicks in, and suddenly you’re drowning in melancholy. Wyatt’s lyrics hit hard—he doesn’t scream or shout, but every word lands like a punch to the chest. Listening to it feels like staring out a rainy window, remembering someone you lost. Honestly, I had to stop what I was doing halfway through because it just got to me. That’s the power of this record—it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
What makes Faces And Places Vol 7 stand out isn’t just the music itself—it’s how alive it feels. Like these guys weren’t trying to follow rules or fit neatly into genres. They were just making noise and seeing where it took them. And somehow, it works. Even though it came out in ‘72, it still sounds fresh today, like it belongs in both the past and future at the same time.
Here’s the thing: listening to this album is kind of like wandering through a dream. Sometimes it’s confusing, sometimes it’s beautiful, and other times it’s downright bizarre. But isn’t that life? Messy and unpredictable, yet full of moments that stick with you forever. So if you’re looking for something safe and polished, maybe skip this one. But if you want to take a trip without leaving your couch, crank up Faces And Places Vol 7. Just don’t blame me if you end up questioning everything afterward—including why more albums don’t sound like this.
Oh, and fun fact: the cover art looks like it was doodled during a caffeine-fueled fever dream. Totally matches the vibe inside.
