Ray Davies' Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One stands as rock's most clear-eyed industry autopsy, balancing genuine pathos with gallows humor across songs that refuse easy sentiment. The title track's novelty-song structure housed real critique; Davies' sardonic wit and John Gosling's classical arrangements elevated commercial calculation into art. Essential for anyone interested in how rock's best songwriters processed their own complicity in the system consuming them.
⚡ Quick Answer: Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One captures Ray Davies watching the music industry destroy artistic integrity while maintaining sardonic humor. Recorded at Morgan Studios with classically trained keyboardist John Gosling, the album balances genuine human emotion with industry cynicism. The title track became a UK hit despite BBC controversy, exemplifying Davies' ability to blend empathetic storytelling with novelty song structure throughout.
There are albums that arrive as dispatches from a world already ending, and Lola Versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, Part One is exactly that — Ray Davies watching the music industry swallow the thing he loved whole, and laughing about it just enough to keep you from feeling sorry for him.
The Record That Nearly Wasn’t
By 1970, the Kinks had been through the American touring ban, through a string of commercially indifferent concept records, through Ray’s public breakdown, through Dave’s marriage troubles and his habit of making every situation slightly more volatile than it needed to be. They had also, improbably, clawed their way back into relevance with Arthur the year before. Lola was the follow-up, and the pressure was real.
It was recorded at Morgan Studios in north London, with Ray producing alongside John Gosling, the classically trained keyboardist they’d just recruited and immediately nicknamed “The Baptist.” Gosling’s Mellotron and piano parts thread through the whole record like stitching — you don’t always notice them, but pull them out and the thing falls apart.
The rhythm section is Dave Davies on guitar and John Dalton on bass, with Mick Avory doing what Mick Avory always did: playing like a man who had somewhere else to be, which gave every track an urgency that more technically gifted drummers couldn’t have manufactured.
What Ray Was Actually Doing
This is not a cheerful album, even when it sounds like one.
“The Contenders” and “Rats” are genuine bile, the kind of songwriting you do when you’ve sat across the table from enough lawyers to know exactly what you’re angry at. “Strangers,” written by Dave, is the one moment of quiet on the whole thing — a hymn that sounds like it was recorded at the end of a very long night, which it probably was.
And then there is “Lola.” Engineers at Morgan had to use two tape machines running simultaneously to achieve the final mix, one of the more elaborate workarounds in a year full of them. The BBC initially banned it for a Coca-Cola reference, Ray flew back from an American tour to re-record the line with “cherry cola,” and it still became the biggest UK hit the band had seen in years. The story has been told enough times that it risks becoming cute. Listen to the actual track and it isn’t cute at all — it’s a perfect piece of empathetic storytelling wearing the coat of a novelty song.
That tension is the whole album, really. Ray Davies is one of the few songwriters who can make industry cynicism and genuine human feeling occupy the same three minutes without either one feeling dishonest.
The Sound
Morgan Studios in Willesden had a certain dryness to the room, a mid-range presence that suited the Kinks better than the airier spaces where more fashionable bands were recording that year. You can hear it on the acoustic guitar in “Get Back in Line” — that specific lack of reverb, the sound of wood in a room, not wood in a space. The record was engineered by Mike Bobak, who understood that this band needed to sound like a band, not a production.
The mono sensibility is still there even in stereo mixes. Things sit in the center. The arrangements don’t sprawl. Ray’s vocal is never buried.
Put it on at a reasonable volume and it sounds like it was made last month by people who knew what they were doing.
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🎵 Key Takeaways
- {'bullet': "🎹 John Gosling's Mellotron and piano stitching holds the album together—remove them and the structural integrity collapses entirely.", 'emoji': True}
- {'bullet': "📻 The BBC ban on 'Coca-Cola' forced a 'cherry cola' re-record, yet the track succeeded as empathetic storytelling disguised as novelty, not the other way around.", 'emoji': True}
- {'bullet': "⚙️ Morgan Studios' dry mid-range presence and Mike Bobak's mono-aware engineering made the band sound cohesive rather than produced—no reverb artifice, just wood in a room.", 'emoji': True}
- {'bullet': "😤 'The Contenders' and 'Rats' are unfiltered bile about the industry; Ray Davies weaponized cynicism and genuine emotion in the same three minutes without compromising either."}
- {'bullet': "🥁 Mick Avory's impatient drumming—playing like he had somewhere better to be—created an urgency no technically superior drummer could manufacture."}
Why did the BBC initially ban 'Lola'?
The BBC objected to a Coca-Cola reference in the original lyric. Ray Davies re-recorded the line as 'cherry cola' and the track was cleared, though the distinction hardly dampened its success as the band's biggest UK hit in years.
What made Morgan Studios the right choice for this album?
The room had a characteristic dryness and mid-range presence that suited the Kinks' direct approach better than the airier, more reverb-heavy spaces fashionable bands were using in 1970. Engineer Mike Bobak preserved that mono sensibility even in stereo mixes, keeping things centered and uncluttered.
How did John Gosling change the Kinks' sound on this record?
His classically trained Mellotron and piano work threaded through the entire album as essential structural stitching. The band immediately nicknamed him 'The Baptist' and his arrangements prevented the record from sprawling into self-indulgence.
Is 'Lola' actually a novelty song or something deeper?
It's empathetic storytelling wearing the coat of a novelty song—the tension between those two modes is what makes it work. Ray Davies rarely lets industry cynicism and genuine human feeling feel dishonest when they occupy the same track, and 'Lola' is the album's clearest example.
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