What the record is and where it came from
Da Capo is Love’s second studio album, recorded primarily in September–October 1966 at RCA Studios in Hollywood—except for ‘7 and 7 Is’, cut in June 1966. It follows a lineup expansion, new producer (Paul A. Rothchild), new engineer (Dave Hassinger), and a shift from garage/folk rock toward psychedelia, baroque pop, jazz, Latin music, and proto-punk.
How it sounds, and how it was made
It sounds like a seven-piece band reworking Arthur Lee’s chord-and-lyric demos on his black Gibson acoustic guitar, then building parts around them in RCA Studios in Hollywood. The room is dry and present. Pfisterer plays harpsichord, organ, and piano. Cantrelli adds saxophone and flute. Stuart drums. Lee and Echols cite Miles Davis and John Coltrane as influences. Side one is tightly arranged. Side two is an 18:57 edit of a 45-minute live improvisation, bookended by Pfisterer’s Bach-quoting harpsichord part.
What lands
Side one lands: six tightly arranged, stylistically diverse tracks—psychedelic, baroque, jazzy, Latin-inflected, proto-punk. ‘Seven & Seven Is’ hits hard. ‘She Comes in Colors’ glides. ‘Orange Skies’ floats. The arrangements are distinct, deliberate, and anchored by Lee’s demos and Hassinger’s engineering.
What does not
It does not sustain the intensity of side one across side two. ‘Revelation’ is divisive, even among band members. It does not tour the material—it resists conventional promotion. It does not sound like the garage or folk rock of the debut.
The ideas inside it
The title ‘Da Capo’ means ‘from the beginning’, signalling a musical reset and the band’s return to roots after contractual conflict with Elektra. It reflects a shift in studio, personnel, and ambition—not a manifesto, but a recalibration.
Who should hear it, and who should not
You should hear it if you care about how studio process shapes songwriting—especially where a leader’s demos meet jazz-trained players and baroque instrumentation in a mid-60s Hollywood room. You should not hear it if you expect side-long coherence or if ‘Revelation’’s sprawl undermines your patience.
Is it worth your time
Yes—if you want to hear how psychedelia, baroque pop, jazz, Latin music, and proto-punk collided in a single 1966 session, with no studio polish hiding the players’ decisions. No—if you need cohesion, consistency, or a record that holds together across both sides.