Side 1
1. Dream World 3:16
2. Auntie's Municipal Court 3:55
3. We Were Made For Each Other 2:24
4. Tapioca Tundra 3:03
5. Daydream Believer 2:58
6. Writing Wrongs 5:06

Side 2
1. I'll Be Back Up On My Feet 2:32
2. The Poster 2:16
3. P.O. Box 9847 3:18
4. Magnolia Simms 3:42
5. Valleri 2:16
6. Zor And Zam 2:08

‘The Birds The Bees & The Monkees’ seems to be one of the least loved Monkees albums. It marked a new phase in the group’s career following the unified group efforts of the previous year, ‘Headquarters’ and ‘Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd’, which were made after a hard fought battle to wrest artistic control over their music from Don ‘The Man With The Golden Ear’ Kirshner. Much to the dismay of Peter Tork, who was always happiest working within a traditional band dynamic, the ethos which produced these LPs was abandoned in favour of an approach which allowed each Monkee complete creative freedom, working on their own tracks independently and then compiling an album from what was essentially a selection of solo recordings. This resulted in a wealth of material which also fed the next two albums ‘Head’ and ‘Instant Replay’ as well as the three ‘Missing Links’ compilations released in the 80s and 90s. Given the different musical tastes of each member of the band, all the Monkees albums are somewhat eclectic in nature, but ‘The Birds, The Bees & The Monkees’ is the most schizoid of the lot. While the idea behind the making of the album was diplomatic in theory, the final product ended up being dominated by the polar opposites of Mike Nesmith and Davy Jones, the group’s two most prolific songwriters. Nominal lead singer Micky Dolenz barely gets a look in on side one, and Peter Tork only features on one track, providing the distinctive piano riff on 'Daydream Believer'. None of the songs he was working on at the time made the final track list, with the disposable 'Alvin' and the searing 'Do I Have To Do This All Over Again?' dropped from the running order at the eleventh hour (the latter, by way of consolation, cropped up later in the year in the far more exalted setting of the brilliant ‘Head’ soundtrack). Another of Tork's songs from these sessions, 'Lady's Baby', seemingly missed out on its chance of inclusion because of his inability to settle on a finished version. It was this change in group politics which eventually resulted in a disillusioned Tork quitting the band the following year, leaving The Monkees as a 3-piece. There was also a hint of dishonesty in the credit ‘Produced By The Monkees’ emblazoned in large letters in the centre of the back cover. Early collaborators Boyce & Hart had in fact been drafted in to produce a handful of songs and take no credit, including an exact remake of one of their earlier productions done solely to append a group production credit to the paperwork.

But politics aside, it is easy to understand why some fans of the group find this album hard to stomach. Let off the leash, Davy and Mike indulge themselves to the max, the former pushing his saccharine tastes as far as he can and the latter heading off into wild excesses of experimentation. Given that the record’s first side alternates between the two it makes for a very odd, but sometimes brilliant mix. The whole thing kicks off in fine style with ‘Dream World’, an irresistible slice of orch-pop from Davy Jones, resplendent in harpsichords, horns and the syrupy strings he seemed to love so much. Often seen as the least musically adept Monkee, this self-penned ditty shows how he could come up with a killer chorus when the mood took him. Even better is track two, Mike Nesmith’s typically cryptically titled ‘Auntie’s Municipal Court’, a slice of acid-country which tumbles along on a delicious tangle of jangly guitars. Perhaps due to his under-representation on this side of the record, Micky takes the lead vocal and does an excellent job of it too, coolly delivering Nesmith’s alliterative poetry (‘Sound of the Sunset, Sound of the Sea’ was the song’s working title) while the author himself harmonises from a distance. It is hard to fathom what the song is actually about, but the chorus seems to hook upon the unsettling phrase ‘Somebody stole their minds’. Ending very strangely with Dolenz improvising over tape delay, the song is only let down by a slightly unbalanced mix – a much more satisfactory one can be heard on the Music Box compilation. Davy’s turn next, sadly in the form of the rather sickly ‘We Were Made For Each Other’. He had plenty of superior self-penned songs available for inclusion, so one wonders why this drippy piece of hack-work made it onto the album. It’s hard to completely hate it, but it lets the side down somewhat. Thankfully we next get another Nesmith curveball, the superb and unique ‘Tapioca Tundra’, which begins with countrified electric guitar arpeggios accompanied by random whistling and out-of-sync counting and la-la-ing from Nesmith. Then the drumming comes in and the song kicks into life, intriguing chord changes briskly strummed to a latin beat, wrapped around another piece of cryptic poetry that seems to be about cryptic poetry:

Reasoned verse, some prose or rhyme
Lose themselves in other times
And waiting hopes cast silent spells
That speak in clouded clues.
It cannot be a part of me,
For now it's part of you.

Nesmith has fun playing with his voice on this one, his vocals ranging from strident to croaky, contributing to a general air of playfulness. Nothing needs to be said about ‘Daydream Believer’ which comes next. An undeniably great pop production, recorded during the ‘Pisces Aquarius...’ sessions but held back for release as a stand-alone single. One suspects that it was a record company decision to include it on this album, necessitating a separate production credit for Chip Douglas as a footnote to that all-encompassing and not-entirely truthful ‘Produced by The Monkees’ statement. It was most likely also Colgems who insisted that Nesmith’s next contribution be positioned at the end of side one for those who wished to skip it and proceed straight to side two. For a manufactured band, The Monkees showed a commendable tendency to please themselves rather than their fans (for example taking Jimi Hendrix on tour as their opening act), but ‘Writing Wrongs’ sees Nesmith take his self-indulgence to the outer limits. Kicking off with strident piano chords bolstered by an equally strident drum track, and lyrics that cover a range of images (water turning yellow, sky falling down, man falling from window) which may or may not be connected, it sets up a distinct sense of tension and unease. For the second verse a single, weak organ chord is added to the mix and, at the flick of a switch, changes to a widescreen rotary setting. A brief, pounding chorus concludes in waltz time, there is a pause for breath, and then the tempo moves up a notch with the introduction of a jazzy drum rhythm. Nesmith adds a choppy guitar riff which stays on a single chord over which he proceeds to generally mess about on the piano and the organ, beginning with a simple 3 note piano motif that evolves into a more angular riff; this is then taken up by the organ while the piano moves into more improvisational territory. It’s the sort of thing that would have had Don Kirshner tearing out his hair in dismay, but for fans of general weirdness it is strangely enjoyable. Pounding 3/4 piano chords bring this middle section to a sudden halt and then it’s back to the opening strident chords, which are played solo before being rejoined by the drums and the ominous low organ note. The single organ chord returns with the vocals and switches once more to the rotary setting to even more dramatic effect. Again the chorus pounds away to conclude in waltz time, and the whole song ends very suddenly with a brief reprise of the organ riff from the middle section, fading before it has really begun.

Much to the relief of the more general Monkees fan, side two opens with the upbeat pop of ‘I’ll Be Back Upon My Feet’, Micky Dolenz's vocal bringing to an end the Jones/Nesmith monopoly of side one. It’s an appealing song, and one which had already been tried at earlier sessions, but Micky was writing and recording more interesting material of his own at the time; for some reason these songs would remain in the vaults for the time being. Davy’s ‘The Poster’ continues the innocuous pop vein. A good intro and chorus are let down by twee verses. The lyrics are based around a poster advertising a circus, but ‘Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite’ it ain’t. In a different league entirely is Boyce & Hart’s brilliant ‘P.O. Box 9847’, a superbly sung (by Micky) and arranged slice of psychedelic pop which must rank as one of the era’s great singles that never was. An early version added to the CD reissue reveals how the song originally employed the Moog synthesizer used so innovatively on the group’s previous album, but the finished version wisely replaces this with a supremely creepy string arrangement. Nesmith’s ‘Magnolia Simms’ is another typically eccentric contribution, a clever 1920s pastiche rendered rather irritating by being made to sound as if it is being played off a jumping 78 playing out of one speaker. ‘Valleri’ is Boyce & Hart’s uncredited remake of their earlier production which, despite being featured on the TV show, had somehow never yet made it onto vinyl. An already great pop song is enhanced by an added brass section but, true to contrary form, Nesmith at the time openly declared it the worst record he had heard in his life. The album comes to a decidedly odd ending with the dramatic ‘Zor & Zam’, an embryonic version of which closed the band's final TV show, before Micky introduced Tim Buckley performing 'Song To The Siren'. This brief account of a war between two fictional kingdoms features a magnificent vocal from Micky Dolenz against a backing track that starts with nothing but a military drum beat, gradually building to an epic climax as electric guitar, brass, strings and bass are added. As Dolenz repeats the final lyrics ‘...and nobody came’ over and over, everything fades out leaving deep echoing piano notes and a pounding, reverberating drum - a strong ending to an under-rated album that's often in conflict with itself but is full of rewarding moments for those who like their 60s pop to display wayward tendencies.

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