The story of The Animals is usually told in sharp, iconic flashes: the gut-wrenching wail of “House of the Rising Sun,” the frantic social commentary of “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” the psychedelic haze of “San Franciscan Nights.” These are the undeniable monuments of their career, chart-toppers that defined the British Invasion’s grittier edge. But the true, pulsating heart of the Newcastle band—the raw, club-room essence that Mickie Most first captured on tape—often lives in the deep cuts.
One such essential piece of music, a two-minute-and-change distillation of their early rhythm and blues pedigree, is the instrumental “Blue Feeling.”
It’s easy to overlook. Tucked onto the tracklist of their 1964 American debut album, The Animals (and the UK equivalent, The Animals), it was a quiet moment on a release defined by an audacious, world-conquering single. But to bypass it is to misunderstand the very foundation upon which their stardom was built. This track is less a song and more a brief, smoky atmosphere, a document of five musicians locked into a groove that was, frankly, revolutionary for a mainstream act in 1964.
The Context: A Band on the Cusp
The Animals, with the lineup of Eric Burdon (vocals, though absent here), Alan Price (organ/keyboards), Hilton Valentine (guitar), Chas Chandler (bass), and John Steel (drums), were signed to EMI’s Columbia label (and MGM in the US) under the stewardship of producer Mickie Most. Most, a pop impresario, understood that the raw power the band generated in sweaty Northern clubs needed to be translated, not sanitized, for mass consumption.
“Blue Feeling,” credited to Jimmy Henshaw and recorded early in 1964, comes from that initial burst of studio activity. It belongs to the immediate pre- and post-“House of the Rising Sun” era, an electric moment when The Animals were transitioning from regional R&B heroes to global sensations. It’s the sound of a band stretching their instrumental muscles, a common and essential practice for British R&B groups who worshipped at the altar of American blues masters.
The Scene: Grit and Restraint in the Arrangement
Put this track on, particularly through a quality home audio setup, and the room instantly feels darker, smaller. The band manages to conjure a mood that is both driving and deeply mournful. There’s a certain intimacy to the recording that speaks to the engineering of Dave Siddle under Mickie Most’s production—the sound of instruments right on top of you, no artificial distance.
The rhythm section is the track’s engine. John Steel’s drums maintain a loose, shuffling beat that sits just behind the pulse, never rushing, lending the whole piece of music a swaggering, lived-in feel. Chas Chandler’s bass line is a masterclass in foundation work, a repetitive, rolling figure that anchors the blues progression without ever drawing undue attention. His notes have a rich, warm sustain that cuts through the mid-range.
Alan Price’s contribution is the primary melodic voice. He doesn’t play a traditional piano here, but rather his signature Vox Continental organ, giving the track its instantly recognizable texture. The sound is thin, reedy, and aggressively trebly—a perfect, brittle contrast to the warm bass. His motif is simple, a descending, almost mournful phrase that is repeated and varied with small, rhythmic shifts. It’s a statement of mood over virtuosity.
Hilton Valentine’s Subtlety
The true revelation, however, lies in Hilton Valentine’s guitar work. Unlike the ringing folk-rock arpeggios of “House of the Rising Sun” or the frantic strumming of their Chuck Berry covers, Valentine employs a clean, almost jazz-inflected tone. The single-note solo breaks he takes are crisp, short, and perfectly placed. They are not bursts of frantic energy but rather clipped, articulate statements that punctuate Price’s organ lines.
His phrasing is what elevates the piece of music. He uses a light, quick vibrato and a fast decay on his notes, suggesting a world of sorrow without dwelling on it. The way he hands the melodic baton back and forth with Price’s organ is seamless. It is a brilliant display of restraint—the hallmark of the best blues accompanists. The track avoids the temptation of the extended, flashy solo, instead opting for a series of micro-vignettes.
“It is a brilliant display of restraint—the hallmark of the best blues accompanists.”
The overall dynamic is controlled, leaning into a steady, mid-tempo walk. There are no dramatic volume swells, no sudden stops. The band maintains a constant, heavy-lidded propulsion. It’s the sonic equivalent of a slow, late-night drive down a lonely road, the city lights blurring into long, blue feeling streaks.
A Deeper Riff: The Instrumental as Identity
In the mid-sixties, an instrumental track on a rock album served a few purposes. It could be filler, but for a band like The Animals, it was an affirmation of their musicianship, an opportunity to demonstrate the instrumental chemistry that fueled their live set, free from the theatrical weight of Eric Burdon’s formidable voice.
“Blue Feeling” is the sound of The Animals as a collective unit, not just as a vehicle for a star vocalist. It’s the proof in the pudding, a demonstration that they could generate intense mood and narrative power without a single lyric. This wasn’t just a pop band covering American hits; it was an authentic, working R&B ensemble whose vocabulary extended beyond the usual three-chord trick. It’s one of those tracks you appreciate most when you’re deep into the art of arrangement, maybe after countless hours of guitar lessons trying to nail that perfect, economical blues bend.
It’s a mood that connects across generations, too. I often think of a listener today, staring out a rain-streaked window, needing something that acknowledges the low hum of anxiety without demanding a release. This track offers that acknowledgment. It’s the perfect sonic backdrop for that moment of quiet reflection, the internal monologue running while the external world presses in. It provides the rhythm for personal micro-stories of modern melancholy.
The fact that it exists alongside their biggest hits, sometimes even as a B-side (as it was for the 1965 US single “Boom Boom”), shows how essential this kind of raw, mood-driven instrumental was to their identity, even when pop success beckoned. It served as a ballast against the rising tide of commercial expectation. It was their secret handshake with the dedicated R&B purists.
The ultimate takeaway from revisiting “Blue Feeling” is the understanding that The Animals’ legacy isn’t solely in their chart positions. It’s in the texture, the rhythm, and the profound, understated mood they could create when they simply let the music speak for itself. It asks you to listen not just to the notes, but to the silence between them, the room tone, the grit in the microphone. It asks you to feel the blues, even if only for two fleeting minutes.
🎶 Listening Recommendations
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“Green Onions” – Booker T. & the M.G.’s (1962): Shares the same essential instrumental R&B DNA, built on an iconic organ riff and a deceptively simple rhythm section.
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“Hide Away” – Freddie King (1960): A seminal blues instrumental that showcases a similarly controlled, yet highly articulate, guitar approach in the lead voice.
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“Soul Finger” – The Bar-Kays (1967): For an adjacent, though slightly funkier, slice of instrumental soul that uses a simple, repetitive motif to build huge energy.
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“Wipe Out” – The Surfaris (1963): While surf rock, it uses a similarly raw, punchy drum and guitar sound to create a high-impact, short instrumental piece of music without vocal distraction.
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“Albatross” – Fleetwood Mac (1968): Offers a moodier, more atmospheric instrumental piece with a similar emphasis on clean, reverb-drenched guitar tone and sustained, quiet feeling.
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“Out of Limits” – The Marketts (1963): Another early instrumental that captures the era’s taste for dramatic, slightly dark piano and rhythm-driven mood-setting.