We’re extremely honored to welcome Randy Ray onto the Hidden Track team. You’re probably familiar with Randy’s work on both Relix and Jambands, but he’s also authored two novels with a third on its way. Here’s Randy’s first column:

Most people are unaware that on the initial release of London Calling, The Clash’s landmark double album, their hit single, arguably the most commercial piece of old school ear candy the band would ever record, wasn’t even listed on the sleeve.

Train in Vain appeared as a hidden track, the last song on side 4, kicking in after Revolution Rock, and solidified the legendary status of the album and the band. The gesture also spoke volumes about the post-punk quartet’s confidence that a) they could record a cool, timeless track, and b) they didn’t need to shove the product down the consumer’s throat by highlighting its appearance with even a slight mention on the sleeve.

That sort of hidden track mentality also feeds into my philosophy of live music and film. Like most people who either write or consume the many morsels of heady and witty words on this site, we are longtime Phish fans, as well—just sort of comes with the territory these days like the idea that most of us are either post-college, in college or live near one of those brick or ivy institutions. Anyway, I take that fact as a given and it follows that a lot of the old Phish head way of thinking feeds into our daily lives beyond the “1 for 3, 2 for 5” and “brotha can ya spare an extra” ingrained information.

The best comment I ever heard about improvisation actually came from Phish keyboardist, Page McConnell when he very simply stated that if the band had not been venturing out into the Great Unknown for 15 minutes, they would not have reached that point where everyone was in sync, a new form of music was being created on the spot, and the entire audience was part of that process. There are numerous examples from a 20-plus year career where Phish did, indeed, find this passage of space after the 10- or 12- or McConnell-branded 15-minute demarcation mark. Suffice to say, it required the band and fan to be patient through quite a bit of improvising before one got to that sweet spot.

Read on to find out what film Randy chose as the first Hidden Flick…

I carry the same thought patterns into my admiration about what I call a Hidden Flick—the film that isn’t anywhere near the mainstream or listed anywhere but it somehow was worth the effort I took to bumble my way into finding it. Sometimes, this happens purely out of coincidence or because I’ve flagged something in Netflix and another similar choice is offered. Most of the time, it happens because I tend to trust artists that want to say something completely original on the screen, are not quite sure how they are going to do it but, you’re pretty damn sure, as a viewer, that you’re going to have a hell of a time watching it. I plan on writing about those treasures—sometimes lost; often, just wandering in the cinematic back lot—for the site hoping that you will enjoy these recommendations and begin your own little adventures finding those other bits of gold.

Case in point, the title of this piece is referring to Night Watch and its sequel, Day Watch, which are two Russian science fiction films that are part of Sergey Lukyanenko’s trilogy of novels about the battle between the forces of light and dark, time and space, and the whole notion that a film has to progress in a linear fashion with comfortable images that tell you exactly what is going on. This isn’t always the case but what happens, is that often you are shocked by amazing brain-searing scenes of apocalyptic activity which only appear to transpire if you are willing to go along for the outrageously wild ride (or you’ve cracked the seventh level of the seventh chapter of that really heady post-21st century 4-D video game). Sound familiar? I call it the McConnell Factor—that “what crazy image can we come up with if we keep pushing ourselves?” idea—and I’ll apply it to a Hidden Flick while showing that one can bring a lot of that thinking right back home to music. After all, one just never knows if the needle will run down to the end of the record and another Train in Vain will blast out of nowhere.