Donovan!

It was Bruce McCulloch who once commented that "Greatest hits albums are for housewives and little girls", and by all accounts, he's 110 percent correct. Yet, the time has come for me to confess that, when it comes to mid-`60's psychadelic folk-rock troubadour, I am either a little girl, housewife or both. All I own is the greatest hits album, but dang is it ever good! (I also only own the Buzzcocks "Singles Going Steady" release, but that's a day for a different story.)

Anyway, let's assess the validity of the statement: greatest hits albums just cheapen the experience, don't they? Who the fuck would choose a The Who best-of release when they could be listening to "Quadrophenia"? You could be experience the cathartic ebbs and flows of "Quadrophenia" as a concept album, whereas the only concept behind the best-of is to reduce the experience to what feels like a generic classic rock station. And how could artists as profilic and engaging as Tom Waits or the Flaming Lips be summed up in a greatest hits collection, given the unique and brilliant vibes of all their records? It can't be done!

And yet this big slab of vinyl sits in my collection - the top proclaims "Donovan's Greatest Hits" in bold baby blue and pink lettering, with Donovan's face right below, staring me down as if mocking me for having this Greatest Hits album defiling the purity of my record collection. Why, God, why?

Yes, why? Why the fuck would I seek out a greatest hits collection rather than one of this Scottish goon-dog's many studio albums? I mean, this is the freak who taught fingerpicking to The Beatles! Memories, that's why. Memories and nostalgia. See, this here grrrrreatest hits album made up the soundtrack to my Nursery School years - on regular rotation in my father's car. And no, I'm not gonna start collecting his proper albums - a random, unfamiliar Donovan studio track means next to nothing to me without the memories attached.

Alright, let me drive the point home a bit - I loved (and still do love) the song "Mellow Yellow". That staccato guitar riff, that hi-hat with just the right amount of sleaze, the whispering in the chorus...what's not to love? I'm five-six years old, and my mother's in the hospital giving birth, right? My other brother (three at the time) had the Chicken Pox, naturally I caught it and thus, neither of us are permitted to go to the hospital and meet our new brother. We stayed home with my grandparents and spent most of the time when we weren't taking oatmeal baths thinking up names for the new baby. I was utterly serious when I proclaimed that I wanted the baby to be named either Peter (after a friend I had in Nursery School) or Mellow Yellow. The mother in the family opted for Sam instead.

I recall scratching my head at the contradictory lyrics of "There Is A Mountain" (Hey Zach, can you spell "acid trip"?). In the end, I guess I gave up and grooved to those infectious bongos instead.

I remember being a bit freaked out by the ominous vibe of "Season of the Witch" - my dad casually explained that Fall was the Season of the Witch, with Halloween and all. "You've got to pick up every stick!"

"Epistle to Dippy" and "Sunshine Superman" rock out like a mid-60's Rolling Stones track with Brian Jones in full command of the ship...but better. "Hurdy Gurdy Man" maintains that full-on tremolo glory, before The Butthole Surfers' corruption of said song.

And then there's "Atlantis". I fully believe that my appreciation of this song stems from its genius usage in "Goodfellas". Of course, Scorses opts for the brightest, most colorful music to contrast his scenes of brutal violence, and this is no exception - there's something strangely captivating about hearing this song's brilliant climax set against the scene with Joe Pesci's character fuckin' beating the shit out of Billy Batts. It's one of the best movie-music combinations ever, and I'd like to share it with you if you don't mind:



Get your fuckin' shinebox, indeed. I may still cringe a bit at the thought of this greatest hits album stinking up my music collection, but I feel like I've reached an acceptance of Donovan's rightful place.