Why disinter? Why dredge, delve, divulge? If you stacked all the records ever pressed, the pile would probably reach to the moon and back. Then stack CDs, cassettes, the occasional eight track, and your tower of tunes might even reach ex-planet, Pluto. Simply put, there is more music out there than even Methusaleh would need on his iPod.                    

So, we’re selective. We look for gems among the gravel, works worth our time before the giant needle shuffles off this mortal vinyl.

So I thought I’d talk about albums I’ve really enjoyed. Old ones, new ones, sometimes I’ll probably even write about a single song. Also, in the future I will interview students around campus about some of their favorite albums. To kick this column off, I thought I’d write about The Hollies’ 1967 LP, Butterfly.

An early example of their psychedelic dabbling and one of the last albums with Graham Nash, Butterfly is a strong, cohesive album which went in new directions for its time. It remains a great listen though not every track has aged with equal grace. Much like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, the core of the music is the harmonies between Allan Clarke and Nash, who were friends since elementary school.

Like most British bands of the time, The Hollies got their start playing sets laden with American R&B songs and sound. Though Butterfly was the start of their psychedelic shift (the third track “Maker” sees a slithering sitar rearing its head), The Hollies retained the imprint, throughout their phases, of their two major roots: skiffle and traditional folk music.

Skiffle, or folk music with jazz and blues influences, is reflected in The Hollies’ eclectic augmenting instruments. More traditional folk influences come across thematically in songs like the album opener “Dear Eloise” and later “Charlie and Fred.” The first is a classic I-told-you-so song, about a woman named Eloise, who was involved with, and used by, an older man. However, rather than simply leaving her, he “[ran] off to sea,” much to the singer’s delight. The man who’s gone off to sea is a prototype element of traditional folk music, and a clear alternative to the run-of-the-mill abandonment for another girl in most pop songs of the time. “Charlie and Fred” is about a rag peddler and his horse and could easily be set in New York around the turn of the last century.

The whole album has a pastoral feel, a tone set by the opening organ notes of the first track and sustained until the last ripples of flute on the closing title track. On some tracks, such as “Pegasus,” the combination of this ambience and the tinges of psychedelia merit the song a slap on the wrist for charges of hackney. On other songs, like “Away, Away, Away,” you end up with a simple slice of pop dessert.

Beyond its tone, the album is essentially removed from the listener, as many good albums are. What I mean by this is that Butterfly is a microcosm in twelve tracks, which is distinctly separate from the rhythms of everyday life without being jarring. This cohesion both draws the listener in and keeps him there, while elevating the album to more than just a smear of songs.

The Hollies would appeal to fans of the Everly Brothers; the Beach Boys; Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young; and the Apples in Stereo circa Discovery of a World Inside the Moone. A prime listening spot might be outside somewhere grassy and sunny, or for inclement weather, inside with your eyes closed, pretending.  If there is a standout album you want to share with everyone, e-mail studentxdiscs@gmail.com, and look for the column next week.