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**S.F. Sorrow: The Lost Masterpiece That Invented Rock Opera**

In the annals of rock history, few albums have been as criminally overlooked yet monumentally influential as The Pretty Things' "S.F. Sorrow." Released in December 1968, this sprawling concept album didn't just push boundaries—it obliterated them, creating the template for rock opera that would later make The Who's "Tommy" a household name. The cruel irony? While Pete Townshend's opus gets all the credit, The Pretty Things were there first, crafting a psychedelic masterwork that deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as "Sgt. Pepper's" and "Pet Sounds."

The Pretty Things had already established themselves as one of Britain's most uncompromising R&B outfits by the mid-sixties, out-badding the Stones when the Stones were still considered dangerous. But by 1967, the band found themselves at a crossroads. The British blues boom was evolving, psychedelia was exploding, and frontman Phil May and guitarist Dick Taylor (a former Rolling Stone, no less) were itching to create something unprecedented. Enter Norman Smith, the producer who had worked on early Pink Floyd records, and suddenly The Pretty Things had both the vision and the means to realize their ambitious concept.

"S.F. Sorrow" tells the life story of Sebastian F. Sorrow, following him from birth through love, war, tragedy, and ultimate redemption across 13 interconnected tracks. It's a remarkably cohesive narrative that flows like a fever dream, blending the band's blues-rock foundation with orchestral arrangements, backwards vocals, and enough studio trickery to make George Martin jealous. This isn't just a collection of songs with a loose theme—it's a genuine rock opera, complete with recurring musical motifs and a protagonist whose journey feels both deeply personal and universally resonant.

Musically, the album is a kaleidoscopic journey through late-sixties experimentation. The opening "S.F. Sorrow Is Born" emerges from a cacophony of backwards effects and crying babies before settling into a haunting acoustic meditation. "Bracelets of Fingers" stands as one of the album's undisputed masterpieces, a seven-minute epic that chronicles Sorrow's tragic love affair with devastating emotional impact. May's vocals soar over layers of mellotron and strings, while Taylor's guitar work shifts from tender fingerpicking to explosive psychedelic flourishes.

"She Says Good Morning" showcases the band's ability to craft perfect pop within their conceptual framework, a sunny interlude that makes the subsequent darkness even more affecting. The war sequence, spanning "Private Sorrow," "Balloon Burning," and "Death," represents some of the most visceral anti-war music ever recorded, with "Balloon Burning" featuring some of the most innovative use of studio effects this side of "Revolution 9." The apocalyptic "I See You" builds to a crushing climax that predicts heavy metal by several years, while the closing "The Final Sorrow" provides a cathartic resolution that leaves listeners emotionally drained yet oddly uplifted.

What makes "S.F. Sorrow" so remarkable is how it balances ambition with accessibility. Despite its conceptual complexity, these are genuine songs with hooks, melodies, and emotional weight. The Pretty Things never let their high-concept aspirations overshadow their fundamental understanding of rock and roll's power to move both bodies and souls.

The album's commercial failure was as swift as it was complete. EMI barely promoted it, radio ignored it, and by the time "Tommy" arrived eight months later, The Pretty Things' pioneering achievement was already forgotten. The band's reputation as troublemakers didn't help—they were too wild for the pop crowd, too experimental for the blues purists, and too early for the prog rock audience that would eventually embrace such ambitious concepts.

But influence has a way of seeping through the cracks of commercial failure. Musicians knew. David Bowie certainly heard it before crafting his own conceptual works. So did Genesis, Yes, and countless others who would mine similar territory throughout the seventies. "S.F. Sorrow" proved that rock could tell stories, create worlds, and sustain complex narratives without sacrificing its primal power.

Today, "S.F. Sorrow" stands as a towering achievement finally receiving its due recognition. Reissues have introduced it to new generations of listeners,