I discovered a fantastic sound one evening (1983) probably in a stoned or drunken slumber, beachside Santa Barbara, when some long-haired Pirate Radio meister cued up seventy uninterrupted minutes of the music of Happy the Man: an indelible memory in my skull. I recall leaping out of bed and phoned KTYD's listener line, because I had to know.

"Yeah, pretty good, aren't they. Too bad nobody bought their records. They broke up about four years ago. From Washington D.C./Virginia area. Peter Gabriel once called them, 'my favorite band,'" he said--and I had every good reason to believe him.

In 1972 a few college pals and a recently discharged Army grunt had been bitten by an unlikely Muse. Five Americans alternately trained or enamored of classical music, jazz and British progressive rock: Genesis, Gentle Giant and Van der Graf Generator. Doomed to failure, obviously; but for seven years, the quintet kept plugging. Drummers came and went, but the core sound remained Pure. When it was over, a song was etched upon the American landscape. We've heard nothing like it before or since.

Kit Watkins, Rick Kennell, Stan Whitaker, Frank Wyatt (and drummers Mike Beck, Ron Riddle, and Coco Roussel) honed their chops by night, by day, laboring as hospital orderlies, construction workers, whatever paid the bills. By 1974, Happy the Man were the toast of the Eastern Seaboard, garnering near-orgasmic reviews in the Washington Post and regional throwaways.

Nightly, packed clubs were blown away, first by note-perfect covers of Genesis's "Watcher of the Skies" and King Crimson's eponymous "In the Court of the Crimson King," and later by original works - symphonic skywriting - titles as unlikely as the band's future: "Mister Mirror's Reflections on Dreams," "Stumpy Meets the Firecracker in Stencil Forest," "While Yellow Crome Shine" (from Aldous Huxley's novel Crome Yellow: tells you where their heads were at).

But what was once sweet turned bittersweet, then just got old: playing like ascendant Lords and living like hobos, never breaking out of the college campus and regional festival circuit. Kit Watkins was lured away by Camel, which turned out to be a mirage. Ron Riddle toured and recorded with Blue Oyster Cult, then onto NBC session work. In a bitter reflection, guitarist Stan Whitaker was asked by and turned down Peter Gabriel's third solo album and subsequent tour. The rest languished. What might have been?

I'm listening right now on continuous repeat to "Service With a Smile" from the Crafty Hands CD: which was an LP, then was nothing. All of Happy the Man's output having gone out of print--evil shame, with $250,000 invested by Arista Records and timeless production value courtesy Ken Scott (David Bowie). A long-delayed third LP followed. Twenty years later, HTM decided "What the hell?" and remastered the original analogs on a shoestring, in a Virginia home-studio. Eno, you got nothing on these guys . . . and there falls a little tear down my cheek.

I recall my first acid trip: seated as a child-Buddha with this song as my Initiatory: the most indelible 2:37 I have ever heard. Bone-crunching rhythm section, a Moog that would shame Keith Emerson, guitar like a lightning bolt in your third eye. Shot right through to the Soul.

Happy the Man has reformed (the original Crafty Hands line-up), with Kit Watkins' blessings (stage-shy now, a studio-only guy). NearFest prog-rock gathering (June 2000) reviews are, again, like a wet dream. A new CD be underway. A rare, fine wine, you can't rush it.