Long long ago, a remarkable band sprang forth fully formed from the fertile ground of London’s Notting Hill Gate – an area which saw the first of the city’s alternative/hippie strongholds slowly coalesce. They called themselves Quintessence, partly lived in an extended spiritual community, and duly taught their audiences to chant, dance and generally groove along with their intoxicating sounds. They even filled the Albert Hall – not once but twice.

By the time Quintessence finally disbanded, the hippie dream was already distant memory, Notting Hill Gate had turned to reggae, and the band’s audience had evaporated. But, for a brief few years, Quintessence lit up the musical landscape of Europe with a sound and message so unique that to this day no-one has ever managed to emulate it.

In this more brutal age we now live in, the idea of musicians urging their audience to chant Hindu mantras, with the audience gladly responding, might seem unrealistic at best. But in the brief years when hippies ruled in the UK, between 1969-1972, peace love and good vibes still meant a great deal, and the dream of a larger community had not been split apart. The youth of Europe were open to exploration, and Quintessence certainly gave them something to explore. Instead of preaching hedonism and self indulgence, the band had a far more enlightening message: search for God within – and dance while you are doing so.

The band ploughed a fascinating path – improvised music and long jams like the Grateful Dead, or the UK’s now-forgotten Mighty Baby but with the added vibes of spirituality centred around their very own live-in guru, the god-intoxicated Swami Ambikananda. At the time, there were subtle but unmistakeable differences between the styles of the famous US West Groups such as the Dead, Airplane and Quicksilver and the more blues-based UK bands such as Ten Years After, Jethro Tull and the original Fleetwood Mac. Quintessence managed a rock style somewhere between these two schools, another unique achievement.

They were, as respected music journalist Chris Welch (another hero of the time) enthusiastically observes, above all an astounding live act. In fact their message was so intoxicating and powerful that people to this day attest to life changing experiences from hearing them. And what other band could begin a song with “I was sitting, pondering the wonders of the universe..” and get away with it? Truly unique.

Quintessence music could veer from out-and-out rockers through to well-known Indian chants, taking along the way as many fascinating musical twists and turns as the audience could handle. At their peak, Quintessence not only filled the Albert Hall, but played two big rock festivals including the second ever festival at Glastonbury (catch a brief glimpse of the band on the Glastonbury Fayre movie), toured English cathedrals and persuaded their record company to produce some of the most beautiful album sleeves that have ever existed. They inspired a generation, the many thousands of young men and women who went on to follow spiritual practices and leave their hippie days behind them. Their work was God-directed and inspirational, but sadly the dynamics of touring, communal living and different lifestyle choices in the end broke them apart.

The band’s legacy scarcely lived on at all for many years, as other musical styles came and went and the original members went their separate ways. Quintessence was as good as forgotten.

But slowly, magically, this decade the Quintessence back catalogue has resurfaced, and interest in the band’s music has grown again. Better still, Swiss musician Rudra Beauvert has lovingly cajoled the band’s enigmatic lead singer Shiva Jones back to the microphone. The two have now released two fine albums carrying on the Quintessence tradition and where necessary reinterpreting some Q classics. What goes around, as they say, comes around. And perhaps Quintessence is finally due the acclaim the band deserves as a pioneering, unique act.

The magic of Quintessence is in one sense hinted at by the name, because there was a definite spiritual alchemy at work, and Quintessence is an alchemical word.

Shiva was the front man, looking like a young Byronic romantic poet or, for followers of Eastern religion, an ecstatic young Lord Chaitanya, the Bengali saint who inspired a whole devotional movement in the 10th century. Shiva had presence. He seemed to spring fully formed out of nowhere, but in fact was a reincarnated Australian blues man who moved to the UK for a change of lifestyle. Shiva knew how to move the crowd, and hold a stage.

If Shiva was the yang of the group, Raja Ram was the counter-balancing yin. An inspired, playful figure with a flute, he produced extraordinary, haunting sounds way before the New Age had even been thought of. Raja Ram, the pied piper, perfectly complemented Shiva’s intensity.

The third element to the band was the guitar skill of the introspective Allan Mostert. It is through Allan’s measured interplay that we hear the unmistakeable similarities to Jerry Garcia as he was at his 1970s peak before the drugs slowed him down. Allan could cook up a storm – de rigeur in the blues boom atmosphere of the late sixties – but he was equally a thoughtful guitarist who could play exquisitely subtle passages. As Quintessence evolved, so did Allan’s style – he learned to leave aside his effects pedals and play soft.

Then came the rhythm section – Maha Dev on rhythm guitar, stoking the engine and keeping it going – and keeping right on the spiritual message; Shambu on sturdy bass guitar that kept pace with Allan’s inspired leaps, and Jake on drums and percussion. The three were the roots of a very exotic tree.

The final influences of the band are more hidden. First up is producer John Barham, who like in any legendary group, shared the band’s vision and lifestyle. Then there was the extended ashram family, there to see in a famous picture of the group in an English park with wives, girlfriends, roadies, dogs, babies, and friends plus Swami-ji. Finally, the audiences: young, respectful, not yet drowned by the more brutal musical trends that were about to follow.

And, of course, drugs. Given the time, the place, and the generation, hallucinogens were believed to aid spiritual realization and the cultural impact of acid in particular explains how a band as quirky as Quintessence could ever have gathered an audience in the first place. It also explains the derision of the generation that followed – speed was their favoured drug of choice - , and the subsequent caricatures any ex-hippies have had to live with ever after. Shame. As Elvis Costello and Nick Lowe put it perfectly at the time nihilistic punk reigned the airwaves, “what’s so funny about peace, love and understanding?”

The legacy of the band is contained in three lavishly-packaged albums released under the then ground-breaking Island label, and the final two albums released by RCA. A slender legacy, and crucially Quintessence never released a wholly live album – “Self” is the nearest thing to it. But those albums deserve a close listen. Thankfully, they are all now available on re-issued CDs.

Each Quintessence album follows the same rough blueprint, which defines the band’s unusual direction. But each album in turn refines this blueprint, showing how tight the musicians became from constant playing and touring.

First, comes the Indian-tinged sitar/flute/tabla influence, together with lyrical concerns based on Vedanta and the devotional traditions of the great Bengali sage Ramakrishna. Ordinary love songs? Forget them. These are tunes dedicated to the Divine Mother, or extolling the virtues of Krishna, Mahadev Shiva and Vishnu, meditation and self exploration. Making modern music out of such exalted religious traditions is a skill that few have ever acquired – and Quintessence pull it off, time and time again.

Then, interspersed throughout the albums, are brief Hindu or devotional chants, reminders that the band really did practice what it preached.

The third element provides much of the creative tension in the band, because hidden under the sophisticated Indian veneer is a blues jam band struggling to get out. Not that the band was all bluster and wah-wah pedals. The interplay between Allan Mostert’s lead and Shambu’s bass gets better and better as the albums progress, but the real power comes from MahaDev’s rhythmn guitar and Jake’s assured drumming.

That is the Quintessence mix, and their music reflects tension between these elements at times. One can only guess, down the years, at the different camps and power groups within the band that led to their demise, but musically it is this very tension that gives the band an edge. Fast, furious, to gentle and contemplative is quite a leap, but Quintessence manage it with skill. See what you think and have a listen.

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