Slapp Happy ‎– Slapp Happy

Virgin ‎– V 2014
Vinyl, LP, Album

Tracklist Hide Credits

A1 Casablanca Moon
Backing Vocals – Roger WoottonBass Guitar – Dave WintourDrums – Marc SingerViolin – Graham PreskettWritten-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
A2 Me & Paravati
Backing Vocals – Roger WoottonBass Guitar – Jean Herve-Peron*Cello – Clare Deniz*Drums – Eddie SparrowViolin – Graham PreskettWritten-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
A3 Half-Way There
Congas, Whistle [Whistles], Performer [Etc.] – Eddie SparrowDouble Bass – Nick WortersMandolin – Graham PreskettWritten-By – Peter Blegvad
A4 Michelangelo
Bassoon – Jeremy BainesDrums – Eddie SparrowJug [Jugs] – Andy LeggettMandolin – Graham PreskettWritten-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
A5 Dawn
Backing Vocals – Roger WoottonBass Guitar – Dave WintourDrums – Clem CattiniTrumpet – Henry LowtherWritten-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
A6 Mr. Rainbow
Bass Guitar – Dave WintourDrums – Clem CattiniWritten-By – Peter Blegvad
B1 The Secret
Bass Guitar – Jean Herve-Peron*Drums – Eddie SparrowSaxophone – Geoff LeighWritten-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
B2 A Little Something
Backing Vocals – Roger WoottonBass Guitar – Jean Herve-Peron*Cello – Clare Deniz*Congas – Eddie SparrowDouble Bass – Nick WortersJug – Andy LeggettViolin, Arranged By – Graham PreskettWritten-By – Peter Blegvad
B3 The Drum
Bass Guitar – Dave WintourDrums – Clem CattiniTabla – Keshave Sathe*Written-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
B4 Haiku
Backing Vocals – Roger WoottonPercussion – Eddie SparrowSaxophone – Geoff LeighTambura – Keshave Sathe*Written-By – Anthony Moore, Peter Blegvad
B5 Slow Moon's Rose
Bass Guitar – Jean Herve-Peron*Drums – Eddie SparrowSaxophone – Geoff LeighWritten-By – Anthony Moore

Companies, etc.



Some copies included a 4x6-inch 16-page lyrics booklet.

Recorded at the Manor and CBS.

Barcode and Other Identifiers

  • Matrix / Runout (Side A, stamped): V 2014 A - 4U
  • Matrix / Runout (Side B, stamped): V 2014 B - 3U

Other Versions (5 of 5) View All

Cat# Artist Title (Format) Label Cat# Country Year
V 2014 Slapp Happy Slapp Happy(LP, Album) Virgin V 2014 Australia 1974 Sell This Version
V 2014 Slapp Happy Casablanca Moon(LP, Album) Virgin V 2014 UK 1974 Sell This Version
VIP-4068 Slapp Happy Slapp Happy(LP, Album, RP) Virgin VIP-4068 Japan 1980 Sell This Version
YX-7036-VR Slapp Happy Slapp Happy(LP, Album) Virgin YX-7036-VR Japan 1975 Sell This Version
WAS-1020 Slapp Happy Slapp Happy(CD, Album, RE, Pap) Strange Days Records WAS-1020 Japan 2005 Sell This Version


Reviews Show All 5 Reviews

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October 8, 2017
I have a UK copy on Virgin that has "Casablanca Moon"/Slapp Happy on the side one label, and just Slapp Happy on the side b label...


April 23, 2016
The label image shown here is of the second pressing with "Casablanca Moon" as the title on the label. The first pressing just reads "Slapp Happy", matching the cover and spine.


April 6, 2016
Shouldn't the album should be titled "Casablanca Moon"? It says so on the vinyl.


January 4, 2016

This is one of the greatest albums ever recorded. Really.

The music already existed on tape before it was recorded, so it also stands as a remarkable, and telling, instance of a second go at an extreme creative act proving better than the charged and ground-breaking original. Does that happen often? I doubt it.

[That first go can now be bought (it was simply shelved at the time) under the invert name of Analbasac Noom. It was recorded in Berlin with Faust, and is certainly very slap-happy, not to mention macabre. For this 1974 recreation, ordered up by the fledgling Virgin label in London, the entire work had been re-recorded, reformatted and subjected to achingly arch arrangements, albeit for cool 70s rock band with jazzers on the side.]

One thing worth saying (and then attempting to unsay), is that the band were all impossibly sharp intellectuals, so when you’d want to point to the poetry in the lyrics, we are talking the highest calibre of contemporary poetry, or point out that the singing has a strange intensity, it is in fact working off a studied Brechtian take on the trained demotic cabaret voice. Take the studied capriciousness of the arrangements – every one is chained to a rocky outcrop of conceptual thinking, and drawn back into the safe cave language of rock only under exquisite duress.

That’s them, hip as fuck, in the derelict shed on the cover. She, Dagmar, the very German chanteuse with the glasspaper enunciation, had been married to the English avant-garde composer sitting beside her, but that was then. She eventually joined Henry Cow, in so much as her very delicate health allowed, barely ever appears in public now, but could still probably sell out a Japanese or German auditorium – determinedly reclusive, mostly unknown. Her ex, the composer (and samplist before sampling was invented) Anthony Moore, is now a professor in contemporary music at a German university, pretty comfortably off after writing a few tunes for Pink Floyd that sold rather well. Also, an aficionado of the harpsichord, his own private dalliance. The tall louche American guitarist on the other side, Peter Blegvad, was an itinerant poet. He later created a metaphysical high-art comic strip for a national newspaper, a work of unprecedented conceptual brilliance easily the intellectual and surrealist equal of Herriman’s Krazy Kat. He’s still an itinerant poet and rock guitarist, tricksy genius for hire. They were young, fugitive, ironic and serious at the same time. They wanted to amuse themselves, like Duchamp always just wanted to amuse himself, or so he claimed.

So, having been both accepted and rejected by Virgin, they ditched the Faust primitive rock approach and got in some very good 70s players instead, the sort of guys who might have worked with Kevin Ayers or Eno or someone, and asked them to play twisted tango, then hopscotch shuffle, then soulbeat under an echoing tudor fanfare, then melting electric piano tangle. Every one is a hard brilliant gem, but all curiously different. Dagmar’s voice has often been reviewed as being high and slight. Neither adjective is true (she had a relatively gravelly and husky projectile whisper, and her breath control was finely measured, albeit dragged across the back of her teeth, cabaret-style, in places. But it does actually register as thin and little-lost-girly despite that, so there’s some truth in the untruths about her voice (the Japanese unreservedly love it). So recording-number-two turned out with lots of sharp edges, torn edges, mock rock poses up against kitchen sink slumps, and just the right level of polish.

Which leaves the lyrics. Most are by the poet, as you might suspect, but the composer is also a genius of coiling word games and contributes a fair few. They are simply superb. Ironic, of course, but also deeply mysterious, metaphysical taunts and romantic salves twisted round and round in the tightest of embraces. Pure, if archly sweet and errantly bitter, genius.