In 1977, a reporter for the Providence Journal picked up a record from the office’s “record grab” bin – a place where countless records, sent by PR firms and record labels hoping for a review, would be dumped and made available for anyone working at the paper to take home.
The record in question caught his eye thanks to its cover art: an ornate sun sporting a Mona Lisa grin. It was by a band called “Klaatu,” and the journalist, Steve Smith, was about to make them famous.
Listening to the record, Smith found the music familiar. The drumming sounded like Ringo. The vocals sounded a bit like Paul. The melodies and instrumentation felt…Beatles-ish.
Checking the album’s liner notes, Smith saw that songwriting credits were given not to individuals, but the band as a whole. He called Capitol Records – Klaatu’s label, who had also been responsible for several of The Beatles’ releases in North America – and asked for an interview. He was told the band wasn’t doing any press; they were a “mystery group” who wanted to be known for their music, not for their personalities.
Hmm.
Smith published an article positing the theory that The Beatles had reunited, and were releasing new music under the name Klaatu. The evidence for this theory was thin, but just substantial enough to gain steam. The record label, realizing that this intrigue would make great press, was deliberately coy, but hinted that clues could be found all through the music. You just had to buy the record to find out.
In the end, of course, Klaatu was definitely not The Beatles, and as is so often the case, the simplest answer was the truth: they really did want to be known for their music. They were an unassuming band from Canada who just wanted to remain anonymous.
It’s hard to imagine a successful band in the 21st century remaining anonymous. Social media has provided more access to celebrities than we could ever possibly need or want. Of all the things that could make a band famous today, mystery doesn’t seem like a likely ingredient.
And yet: Sault.
This band has released two critically acclaimed, funkily minimalist albums in the past year, and nobody knows who they are. The only established fact seems to be that their label, Forever Living Originals, is based in London.
I’m not sure if their mystery is a gimmick or if, like Klaatu, they just value their privacy. But the music is so good, it almost doesn’t matter.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. The bass line is killer. There’s also a mysterious edge to it, like it should be the soundtrack to a 70s detective show or something.
2. There are multiple vocalists, but they sound so similar and switch parts so seamlessly – sometimes in the middle of a line – that it’s hard to build an image of who these people are. It’s like scanning faces on a crowded subway.
3. There’s a strange familiarity to it. The first time I heard this song, I was sure I’d heard it before, but equally sure that I’d never heard anything quite like it.
Recommended listening activity:
Making an anonymous donation to a worthy cause.