In the hands of Beck’s then-manager, Mickie Most, the grandly-titled Truth had the potential to be a glorious train wreck. Having produced singles for the likes of Herman’s Hermits and Suzi Quatro, the pop savant’s studio credentials were nonetheless suspect in this context and the collaboration looks and sounds all the more absurd as the album reaches its 55th anniversary.
Yet it’s a testament to the continuing influence of the ex-Yardbird’s initial solo effort (on Led Zeppelin and hard rock/heavy metal in general) that the execrable production afforded the original recordings has become a moot point. Notwithstanding Most’s initial forays with El Becko, consisting, respectively, of “Hi Ho Silver Lining, “Love Is Blue,” and “Tallyman.” Most’s lack of technical knowledge, even with (or because of) his pedigree begs the question of what this album might sound like had its depth matched its color.
Certainly, those lapses in judgment that had the woefully inadequate vocalist in Jeff singing on those first and last aforementioned cuts are dubious enough in themselves to validate their exclusion from the album as officially issued. The innate peculiarities of Beck’s guitar playing abound on the LP as we now know it, even more so than when he nurtured the adventurous spirit of the aforementioned band in which he replaced Eric Clapton.
Listening to Truth with over a half-century hindsight, the distinctions of man’s fretboard work are all too obvious, especially beyond the most literal touchpoints of the time, in the form of “You Shook Me” and “Blues Deluxe.” The canned applause on the latter imparts a tongue-in-cheek air to the proceedings far removed from the studied solemnity of so many pretenders working in the genre at the time.
Still, it’s hardly worth belaboring the similarities between the JBG and Zeppelin, except perhaps to note that Page, the slightly older of the two old friends, was borrowing from the very inception of his group by anointing his hand-picked lineup ‘the New Yardbirds’ for its earliest live appearances. More egregious instances of artistic burglary by he and his hirelings followed in subsequent early years, but in terms of appropriations from other sources, Jeff Beck opens his first solo album as audaciously as he titled it.
This reimagining of the Yardbirds’ “Shapes of Things” fittingly commences the proceedings in such a broadminded way it transcends the mere appellation of it as a cover. As much as his vast imagination lured that band to hire him in place of Slowhand three years prior, the scope of his playing had grown exponentially, a progression reaffirmed with this (re-)arrangement of “Morning Dew:” a far cry from the quiet, mournful likes of the Grateful Dead’s, the noise surrounding Rod Stewart’s purposefully distanced vocal makes for a nightmarish air intrinsic to the song itself.
Along with an ever-so-tranquil acoustic reading of “Greensleeves”–foreshadowing Jeff’s later fondness for ballads like “Nadia” from 2000’s You Had It Coming--those two numbers combine their rip-roaring atmospherics with that of “Beck’s Bolero” placed near the homestretch of Truth. Sequenced as such, the ten cuts comprise something akin to an aural version of time-elapsed photography capturing the increasing sophistication, not to mention the visceral power, of Jeff Beck’s guitaring.
His band took a similarly impulsive approach in their accompaniment. The insistent, often frenetic bass playing of Ronnie Wood found an anchor in Micky Waller’s drumming on numbers like “Let Me Love You,” where their own impulsive interactions, comparing favorably to those of the bandleader, complemented the hoarse caterwauling and crooning of a young Rod Stewart (with whom Wood collaborated later in the decade and into the Seventies, before becoming guitarist in the Rolling Stones).
Braggadocio was in no shortage within this four-piece and it dissipated hardly an iota with the formal enlistment of session man extraordinaire pianist Nicky Hopkins for the follow-up album Beck-Ola out the next year (including not one but two Elvis covers!). Yet while The Jeff Beck Group was originally billed to appear at Woodstock in 1969, the leader abruptly broke up the group, stating outright he didn’t consider them ready for such a high-profile gig (see his off-the-cuff comments in the exceptional documentary Still On The Run).
Remastered and expanded editions of the Beck Group’s two albums in 2006. Including extra tracks as enlightening in their own way as the extensive liner notes, the packages give further credence to Jeff’s visionary status, and they now also stand as early hints of his prescience in the jazz-rock fusion field.
Admitting inspiration derived at least in part from John McLaughlin and his Mahavishnu Orchestra, the genius guitarist embarked upon numerous explorations in the hybrid idiom. While he took the same fitful, decidedly non-careerist approach to recording and touring after 1975’s Blow By Blow, some three decades later he began to concentrate on elevating his profile and did so with admirable purpose.
Still, even in this larger sense, Jeff Beck retained the uncommon restraint he had honed in his guitar playing over the years. As a result, his ascension toward the icon status afforded his two most prominent contemporaries, the aforementioned Clapton and Page, continued unabated past the celebration of his fiftieth anniversary ten years later, as captured on Live at the Hollywood Bowl. The man was garnering plaudits right up until his untimely passing early in 2023, this right after touring in support of the unjustly-maligned 18, his collaboration with Johnny Depp. Assigning the adjective ‘tragic’ to El Becko’s sudden death understates the cosmic ignominy of his fate.
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