The Moody Blues
– In Search of the Lost Chord
You could say In Search of the Lost Chord is what happens when a band gets hold of a Mellotron, a sitar, a few philosophy paperbacks, and no adult supervision. It’s an album that reaches—sometimes stumbling, sometimes soaring—but always reaching. The Moody Blues didn’t just want to make pop songs; they wanted to tap into some kind of cosmic frequency. Whether they did or just tuned into the local head shop’s playlist is up for debate. But it’s one hell of a trip either way.
Best of…
The band shed their orchestral training wheels after Days of Future Passed and doubled down on doing everything themselves. That decision gives the record a weird intimacy, even when it’s stacked with layers of instruments and ideas. There’s a sense of curiosity driving the whole thing—like they didn’t know what they were going to find either, so they kept digging. The lyrics are full of mystic ponderings, but the melodies keep it tethered to Earth just enough to keep you listening.
The charm of Lost Chord is that it doesn’t apologize. It asks big questions and throws around big sounds: spoken-word poetry, sitar drones, fuzzed-out guitars, chamber-pop harmonies. Sometimes it works beautifully; sometimes it collapses under its own ambition. But the band sounds so invested in every note, it’s hard not to get pulled into the search. It may not always find the answers, but it asks with such sincerity, you almost don’t care.
Choice Tracks
Ride My See-Saw
Kicks off like The Who on a yoga retreat—power chords, propulsive rhythm, and a sneaky cynicism beneath the psych gloss. It’s a rocker disguised as enlightenment.
House of Four Doors
More suite than song, it shifts through time like opening rooms in a haunted museum. Each section tries on a different historical style. It’s a weird, ambitious piece that mostly holds together because the band commits to the bit.
Legend of a Mind
Timothy Leary is dead—or so they claim—but this song immortalizes him anyway. Ray Thomas’s flute spirals through space, and the whole track sways like a lava lamp in 7/8 time. It’s psychedelic with a pulse.
Voices in the Sky
Justin Hayward reins it in for a gentle, reflective ballad that feels like the album’s emotional center. It’s simple, aching, and quietly beautiful without trying to levitate.
Om
They close with a full-blown Eastern meditation, complete with chanting and sitar. Depending on your mood, it’s either profound or parody. But even when it wobbles, there’s a sense they mean every note—and that’s what makes it worth the ride.