Opal - "Happy Nightmare, Baby"

I was introduced to this album around 1989...I wasn't sure at first to make of it. I knew I liked it, but I couldn't define it. I was completely oblivious to the whole paisley underground that emerged out of L.A. Well, to say I was completely unaware of it is a little misleading, I knew many of the bands associated with the scene, Redd Kross, Rain Parade, Dream Syndicate - but I didn't know they were from a flock of new and burgeoning musical directions. As my appreciation grew, so did my desire to find more... unfortunately, their release as Clay Allison was already obscure, and forget about trying to find the singles; truth is, you were lucky to find anyone who even knew who Opal were even at music showcases. This album stands in contrast to their other material because it embodies a more psychedelic and acid-tinged feel, whereas Early Recordings and the aforementioned singles drew from a more folk/hippie environment. Where Early Recordings may be an inspiration to new folk acts like Devendra Banhart or Vetiver, Happy Nightmare, Baby would be more appealing to bands such as The Black Angels or Sleepy Sun. It's hard to imagine that the relationships in the band were tumultuous, but given the abrupt end of the tour in support of this album - it seems it was exactly that. There is a lot of isolation in the vocal delivery as well as the lyrics through the album; musically it suggests you are somewhere you shouldn't be contemplating things you probably shouldn't do. Imagine the madcap whimsy of Syd Barrett and layer that with Jefferson Airplane.. it's a warm embrace, but the warmth is likely that from your own blood. Perhaps that sounds macabre or maddening... I am not suggesting that Happy Nightmare, Baby is the equivalent of swallowing a bottle of valium and slitting open your wrists. I am however attempting to paint a picture that illustrates the mood, the attitude, and delivery that not only embodies Opal, but also Opal's successor, Mazzy Star. Jellyfish, Redd Kross, Rainy Day, Susanna Hoffs - they belong to a paisley underground that wants you to enjoy the fragrance of the flowers and bask in the brilliance of being carefree and probably naked. Opal, on the otherhand doesn't look so good naked - is quite ashamed of itself; pretty much hates itself; hates you for noticing it; likes b & w photos of flowers; and would rather tear-ass across a field of daisies in a '69 GTO than a birthday suit. Did I paint a picture here, or was this my worst attempt at a review yet? ;Did I mention that I love this album? I do. If you knew me, you'd know I like all that mopey shit.