Take a listen to the Tweedy Bros' ultra-rare 1966 single ("Good Time Car" b/w "Terms Of"), recorded for the DOT label. You can hear a kinship with the great early San Francisco psych-rock groups: the Charlatans, the Mystery Trend, the Great Society, Sopwith Camel. They share a sound devoid of pretension, but there's a cutting-edge wink in the music hinting that the band is in on something bigger.
The New Tweedy Bros! had a busy six-month run before returning to Portland for the holidays in 1967. But times weren't easy: Authorities in both cities were growing suspicious of late-night dances with rock music. Soon promoters were having trouble getting the required licenses to hold such events. For a band like the Tweedy Bros., who didn't want to play bars, jobs dried up. Fagaly was first to leave and start a family. "None of us had any day jobs for the two years I was in the band," says Fagaly, who currently lives in the Bay Area. "We made our living out of this."
By the end of 1968, The New Tweedy Bros! had called it quits. Yet before they faded into history, they recorded for Portland's tiny Ridon label their self-titled debut, which would keep their name around much longer than anyone expected.
Once The New Tweedy Bros! was completed (the covers were hand-assembled by the band members), the albums were sold at shows and distributed to local stores. But here's the rub: When record clerks took this masterpiece out of the box, they realized it wouldn't fit on the shelves. Those six corners were in the way, and ended up getting bent. The album was almost impossible to store, so it was kept behind the counter, out of eyesight from curious buyers. With no major label to promote it, sales were low. Tragically, when the band ordered another run of the album art later in 1968, the pressing plant had a fire, and all future covers were lost. (That fact alone heightens the record's collectability.)
Psych-rock advocates have been seeking out The New Tweedy Bros! throughout the years. It's been bootlegged a number of times, and alternate covers have been used to package the music, but no one has gone to the lengths of Shadoks, the German reissue imprint. In the late '90s, Shadoks owner Thomas Hartlage decided he wanted to create the preeminent reissue of the album. He discovered the band members owned a stack of unplayed vinyl copies as well as the master plates for the cover, a coup in the reissue world. Around the same time, the band finally came into possession of a digital copy of its master tapes. Yet Hartlage was impatient: One insider tells me the label owner pressed his vinyl reissue using a mint-condition copy of the record — what collectors call a "needle drop."