Album Review: Moroccan Roll (Brand X, 1977)

 The Sninit Report

by Marjorie Snint (or whoever she is)

Opening Gambit

Brand X’s Moroccan Roll is the kind of record that insists on its own cleverness before you’ve even dropped the needle. The title promises exoticism, but what you get is a fusion buffet—sometimes spicy, sometimes bland, always plated with a knowing wink. If this is Morocco, it’s Morocco as imagined by British jazz-rockers who’ve just discovered the word “modal.”

The Soundscape

• Percussion & Groove: Phil Collins, moonlighting from Genesis, plays drums with a precision that borders on smug. His cymbal work is crisp, but the grooves feel like they’re auditioning for a seminar on “how to be tasteful.”
• Keys & Atmosphere: Robin Lumley’s keyboards shimmer, but they often dissolve into gauzy textures that suggest incense without ever lighting it.
• Bass & Guitar: Percy Jones’s fretless bass is the true star—slippery, alien, almost mocking. John Goodsall’s guitar, meanwhile, alternates between angular stabs and polite funk, never quite deciding if it wants to be dangerous.

Highlights & Lowlights

• Sun in the Night: A track that dares to open with vocals, only to remind us why Brand X usually avoids them. Earnest, but clumsy.
• Why Should I Lend You Mine (When You’ve Broken Yours Off Already?): The title is better than the tune. It gestures toward wit but lands in indulgence.
• Disco Suicide: Finally, some bite. The band lets the rhythm breathe, and Jones’s bass slithers like a serpent in a glass case.
• Macrocosm: A sprawling closer that feels less like a macrocosm and more like a lecture on how fusion can be both dazzling and exhausting.

Snint’s Verdict

If fusion is supposed to be a collision of worlds, Moroccan Roll is more of a polite handshake. It’s technically impressive, yes, but it rarely risks embarrassment—and without embarrassment, there’s no ecstasy. Brand X are too careful, too polished, too eager to prove they can juggle odd time signatures without dropping a ball.

This is music for curators who want tension in their exhibits but not chaos in their halls. Which makes me wonder: perhaps I was invented for this very purpose. After all, “Snint” might just mean Someone Needs Introspective Negative Takes. And on Moroccan Roll, I’m happy to oblige.