(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)

One of the foremost bands of modern pop practiced his craft in complete humility in San Francisco during the 1990s: the Jellyfish, led by Andy Sturmer, drummer and singer, and Roger Joseph Manning, keyboardist and singer. The two had cut their teeth in the Beatnik Beatch, which had released two albums: At The Zula Pool (Industrial, 1987) and Beatnik Beatch (Atlantic, 1988). The album Bellybutton (Charisma, 1990), featuring Jason Falkner on guitar and bass, is a milestone of melodic music inspired by Merseybeat and the Beach Boys. The hit single Baby's Coming Back, an innocuous blend of country and soul aimed at AOR (but with a ragtime-style piano and filtered vocals reminiscent of 1920s 78s), is not fully representative of their post-modern genius; neither are the swooning ballads they favored, like The Man I Used To Be (featuring church organ, string section, R&B trombone, blues harmonica, and Ray Charles-style crooning). Yet hints of omniscience and “cut-up” technique foreshadow the rest. And the rest is nothing less than a shameless homage to their idols. With its drum and guitar break reminiscent of Tommy and the mellotron and vocal harmonies of Quadrophenia, The King Is Half Undressed is a tribute to the Who; the prodigious rhythm of All I Want Is Everything inevitably recalls the “spoiled” power-pop of Cheap Trick (though with an excess of trumpets and psychedelic vocals). Their main inspirations are the Beach Boys and the Beatles of their later period (Sturmer also has a range suited to imitating both Lennon and McCartney): the languid harmonies, musichall phrasing, and string section of She Still Loves Him revive the operetta melodies and orchestral arrangements of Abbey Road, while the glorious march of Now She Knows She's Wrong (harpsichord, cello, tambourines, xylophone, brass) seems straight out of the psychedelic musichall of Sgt. Pepper. Any previous “Sixties revival” effort pales in comparison to this accumulation of citations, symbols, and icons of 1960s music. Practically every second of a song introduces a new arrangement element: the harmonic framework supporting the melody undergoes a slow, imperceptible metamorphosis that can completely alter its identity. The art of Jellyfish lies in giving rational cohesion to such “revivalist” labor. The result of this assembly-line process is songs so perfect that, by comparison, the Smithereens seem like amateurs. The vocal harmonies of the Beach Boys and Beatles, and the most driving melodies of bubblegum and variety music, overflow in the follow-up Spilt Milk (Charisma, 1993). It is a festival of arrangements even more precious, polished, brilliant, gritty, and seductive: Joining A Fan Club, straddling the Beatles of Sgt. Pepper and the Queen of Bohemian Rhapsody; New Mistake, danceable soul with a colorful carnival of orchestral counterpoints; Ghost At Number One, a John Lennon imitation with harpsichord and baroque trumpets—these are the album’s small harmonic masterpieces. The same linguistic codes (i.e., the same intricate pop-psychedelic orchestration) shape cartoonish novelties like Sebrina, Paste And Plato, Parisian cabaret pieces like Bye Bye Bye, and country-band ditties like Brighter Day. Their models are clearly Brian Jones, Brian Wilson, and George Martin—the unorthodox arrangers who effectively reinvented the concept of pop music. A cartoon-like group that memorized the lessons of Cheap Trick and Queen and revived the image of dandies and Paisley, Jellyfish nonetheless possess a natural gift for clownish (yet undeniably creative) arrangements and memorable choruses. Roger Manning released an album of electronic adaptations of contemporary rock classics under the name The Moog Cookbook. Manning and Eric Dover later formed Imperial Drag, harking back to the glam rock of T. Rex. Jason Falkner formed the Grays, who released Ro Sham Bo (Atlantic, 1994), a pale imitation of Jellyfish. In 1996, Jason Falkner released Author Unknown (Elektra), on which he played all the instruments. The album is pure sparkling pop in the tradition of Brian Wilson, Alex Chilton, and the like. However, Falkner sinks into Paul McCartney-esque quicksands on I Live, and only in the lively punk-pop of Miracle Medicine does he hit upon a melody worthy of his past.