NICK MASON'S FICTITIOUS SPORTS

This record sits in my archives and gets a dusting off every couple of years. There are a number of very good musical moments on it, but simply not enough to overcome the bizarre Carla Bley avant garde jazz material. Don't get me wrong, I think Carla Bley is a major force in the history of modern jazz, but even to me, with a confirmed taste in jazz, a bit of the ideas are a bit over the top aesthestically, and, that is saying a lot. For those looking for a Pink Floyd solo effort, this is not your record. The only thing that sounds vaguely like Pink Floyd is session guitarist extraordinaire Chris Spedding's guitar work on Hot River. Mason's drumming, as always, is handicapped by a profound lack of talent, his talents largely existing conceptually and behind the scenes. Wyatt's vocals have always been a polarizing kind of thing- you tend to either love them or hate them. His hoarse, thin delivery is up some people's alley. The musicianship on the record, despite its many conceptual and executional shortcomings, is excellent. Can't Get My Motor to Start is a riot. Siam is a bore. All in all, this recording, now out of print, should probably remain that way. With many notable exceptions, material with more lasting power tends to provide more substantive musical, aesthetic or historical statements, and when it comes to those, this one simply just doesn't past muster. It remains a curiosity worthy of 2.5/ 5 stars.