The third Jefferson Airplane LP (second by the classic lineup) is to me not only the pinnacle of this band’s storied career, but also the album that best encapsulates the whole 1967 San Francisco rock scene, sound and ethos. The traditionally catchy folk rock tunes of their previous smash hit “Surrealistic Pillow” album have suddenly mutated into freaky acid gobblin’ LOVE anthems stitched together into one big free love “trip.” The cover art nails it perfectly — a distinctively San Fran looking crash pad house complete with marijuana bushes sticking out of the basement windows (no doubt representing the Fullton St. digs where the whole band lived together during this period) has grown wings and propellers and become a literal “jefferson airplane” — flying in full color over a black-and-white sea of advertising, pollution and debris — tossing colorful confetti and balloons and jammin’ righteous anthems of love and revolution.

No doubt under the influence of the Mothers of Invention’s “Absolutely Free” album (and in fact they asked FZ to produce this album, which he declined) there are 11 “songs” on the album, though they have been combined into 5 longer “suites” which have also been given titles (like “Streetmasse” and “Hymn To An Older Generation”) and furthermore even between the 5 bands on the vinyl the tracks are still sequenced into a continuous flowing medley.

The classic Airplane lineup of Paul Kanter, Grace Slick, Marty Balin, Jorma Kaukonen, Jack Cassidy and Spencer Dryden, which over the coming years would break up into various factions fighting to pull the group in different directions, are as unified on this LP as they ever were. Everyone contributes great things to the songwriting and arranging on just about every track — Kanter’s acid&love “Anthems” are embelished by Balin’s balladeer vocals and Kaukonen’s heavy vibe guitars, Slick’s sex-revolution reveries are heightened by Cassidy’s jazzthump bass and Dryden’s “experimental” head noises, etc.

The album begins with one of the finest blasts of guitar feedback ever committed to vinyl:
BrrrrrrSKREEOOOWWWWWwWwWwWwWwWw~~~~~~~!
Which is somewhat spoiled by the tinkertoy piano riff that follows and kicks off Kanter’s “Ballad of You & Me & Pooneil.” Although in it’s defense by the third time this tinkertoy riff comes around it’s acquired a meth-robot spazzdance quality that contrasts and fits in nicely with the more ambling Fillmore Ballroom bridges and mini-jams that the tune wanders in and out of. The lyrics ask such psychedelic questions as: “doesn’t the sky look green today?” and “will the moon still hang in the sky / when I’m high / when I die?” To up the dada factor Balin exclaims “armadillo!” at the end of one of the choruses. Amazingly, this song was released as the A‑side single from the album — needless to say it didn’t make the top 10 or even 40.

After a heavy bass-driven climax and a panning burst of guitar distortion we segue into Dryden’s 1:42-long “A Small Package Of Value Will Come To You Shortly” — layered “free jazz” drumming, random bells, off-tempo harpsichord runs and fart sounds provide a bed for cackling hippy chatter complete with analog delaydelaydelay which all culminates with the statement: “no man is an island … he’s a peninsula!” Grok that!

Which goes straight into “Young Girl Sunday Blues” by Balin and Kaukonen, a great example of the fertile collaboration of the group at this point in their career: a wistful Balin love song about “waterfall colors” where Marty “gets lost in yesterday and tomorrow” is dressed up in phlorescent orange hues by Kaukonen’s wailing acid guitars.

Next up is a Kantner-penned sorta-ballad “Martha” which has a groovy “nights of smokin hash in arabia” vibe created by Dryden playing woodblocks that clip-clop like a camel’s hooves, and Slick busting out some snake-charming raga riffs on recorder. Lovely meshing of Paul’s acoustic with Jorma’s electric guitars as well. Another dada sneaky head moment: towards the end of the track, a giant echoey white powder SNNNNNOOORRRTTT! *sniff*sniff*

The acapella ending to “Martha” meshes into the bizarro fakejazz acidriff which introduces “Wild Tyme (H)” (no relation to Pow R Toc H) which seems like THE Anthem of an album full of Anthems: Grace wails “It’s a wild time / I’m doing things that haven’t got a name yet!” while Jorma’s axe caterwauls like a mushroom in heat. “I see changes … !”

Next up is “The Last Wall of the Castle”, a heavy Kaukonen number with more chunky distorto guitar gnashings, a somewhat odd chorus about LOVE in the all-encompassing hippy sense of the word, and a bridge that sounds exactly like Sonic Youth circa 1986.

Which finally brings us to the last song on side A, Slick’s “rejoyce” which seems to get its title and lyrical structure from James Joyce. Beginning like a Cecil Taylor-lite piano ballad, the first lyrics are “CHEMICAL CHAIN!” and then there’s some stuff about “suitandtie suitandtie, weddingring weddingring”, obtuse bedroom political parables of pre-women’s lib misery, sadly sung: “there’s so many of you .… ” Horn riffs lifted from Coltrane’s “Africa Brass”, some nice thick jazzbo blasts from Jack Cassidy, and finally Grace’s ultimate kissoff line: “War’s good business so give your sons / but I’d rather have my country die for me!”

Side two commences with Kanter’s “Watch Her Ride” a sunnyday sexpositive freelove Anthem (they’re all anthems remember, especially when Kantner’s writing the words) with some more luverly bass & guitar by Jack & Jorma, plus great vocal interplay between Grace & Paul: “It’s all I can do to sit here and let you blow my mind / you’re so fine in my mind / in my mind you’re so fine / in my mind … ”

Which then leads into the album’s one bummer track, “Spare Chaynge” which is nine minutes of bass solo vs. drum piddling and subdued guitar noodling that takes an awfully long time to go nowhere. Grace, Paul & Marty are nowhere to be found, so I guess maybe they weren’t totally unifed all the time on every decision, cuz this has to be a sop to the improv-lovin’ Hot Tuna guys — but I mean sheesh, at least come up with a riff whyncha? Or if you must forego the riff, find a texture/atmosphere more interesting than “bozos with electric instruments playing jazz badly,” OK?

Grace brings it back with “Two Heads”, another stab at middle American womanhood: “want two heads on your body … elephant trunk inside your mouth … alcohol is the only key to your bed.” A heavy note-bending nonriff over a cool hopskip beat punched up by generous delay on the hi-hat, plus some more pseudo-oriental keyboard lines from Slick (Korla Pandit eat yer heart out!)

The album’s final “suite” comprises the last two tunes which sort of overlap each other into a larger whole, in fact ending with the choruses from both “songs” sung as a round: “Won’t You Try / Saturday Afternoon” is the Final Anthem, “when your head is feeling fine” trippin’ on a hill in a San Francisco park on a “Saturday Afternoon” (which they rhyme with “incense and balloons”), then like yer starting to come down but it’s so groovy, like we can change the world: “It’s a time for growing / and a time for knowing / looooovvveee … Won’t you try?” 

The spirit of “1967” never sounded so optimistic, compelling and like beautiful, man.