Crewe 1970 / Think Like A Key 2026
Cult classic of English psychedelia finally finds its proper place in the history of potentially fantastic losers of the race.
For Fox Sake
It’s almost impossible to believe such a title could be bestowed upon an album by an ensemble that got stuck between the ’60s and the ’70s; it’s even less possible to believe the phrase the title referred to would define the band’s brief existence. The quintet’s twelve-hour test session became their sole platter – and a testament to the artists’ talents – which saw an American release prior to a British one and promptly flopped, and the group’s management found another, more lucrative collective, whose singer, Ozzy Osbourne, later penned “The Writ” about the woes the businessmen caused the Birmingham musicians. The Brighton bunch, however, endured a harsher doom, as even the recordings they made for the Beeb vanished without a trace, and the tapes for the follow-up to “For Fox Sake” are apparently lost forever too. What remains is the original eleven pieces cut as demos – but there’s more to those, and this reissue sheds a fresh light on the oft-bootlegged longplay, which deserved to be appreciated anew.
Perfectly capturing the period when they were preserved for posterity, most of these tracks are the turn-of-the-decade documents, yet longer cuts suggest the fivesome seemed poised, if given time, to develop into a heavy juggernaut, and the listeners don’t need a better illustration of this probability than the boisterous “Mr. Blank” – one of the record’s finest moments. Presented here in its germ form, with Nick Apostiledes, the band’s first singer, delivering hard-hitting lines, in its rough run-through during the aforementioned studio marathon by the ensemble who fleshed out the sound with vocal counterpoints, and its polished final take, laid down a little later, the number – that shifts from riff-propelled despondence to sweet sympathy and rolls back to a Hammond-bolstered march – shows the progress the lads harnessed. With Tim Reeves’s crisp beats abetting Winston Weatherill’s acidic guitar assault, and Alex Lane’s majestic ivories driving the infectious performances, the hypnotic mini-epic of “Madame Magical” – dedicated alongside the delicate, sitar-spiced “Butterfly” to principal writer and main warbler Steve Brayne’s belle, a certain Sally Oldfield – encapsulates the jazz-tinged future which never happened, while “Lovely Day” with its sunshine harmonies firmly belongs to the past.
Still, midtempo opener “Secondhand Love” – which contains the telltale lyric “I’m out of style” – offers cosmic cynicism and hints at a concept, the next piece being the lysergic serenade “As She Walks Away” that will build the momentum for longer than two minutes and expand on its predecessor’s sad subject. But whereas the piano boogie “Goodtime Music” and the fuzz-toned “Man In A Fast Car” rock quite innocuously, demonstrating the collective’s ability to jive jollily, “Birthday Card” and “Look In The Sky” wrap heartbreak in baroque garb, the group’s grip on depression and their affinity for keeping a bold front in the face of drama on the likes of “Glad I Could” feel riveting.
Yet the drama happened, and the band broke up. The members of THE FOX never really quit the stage, although only Reeves retained a prominent profile, serving in MUNGO JERRY and nearly joining WINGS, and the legend of the English quintet lingered long enough to result in a collectors’ cult. Seeing it cleaned up and delved into deeper than before is extremely gratifying.
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