The Riot Squad's Lost Tapes & Bowie Collab Revealed! [New 3CD Box Set] (2026)

The Riot Squad’s Lost Legacy: A Time Capsule of 1960s Rock’s Almost-Were

Let’s be honest: most bands fade into obscurity, their music buried under the weight of time and better marketing. But I Take It That We’re Through: Anthology 1965-1967 isn’t just a collection of forgotten tracks—it’s a haunting “what if” wrapped in reverb and missed opportunities. The Riot Squad never cracked the charts, yet their story, now resurrected via Cherry Red’s 3CD set, feels like a Rosetta Stone for understanding the chaotic alchemy of 1960s British rock. Here’s why this matters more than you’d think.

The Bowie Connection: More Than Just a Footnote

Yes, David Bowie briefly fronted this band in 1967. But here’s what fascinates me: his stint with The Riot Squad wasn’t a stepping stone—it was a creative rupture. The four tracks he recorded with them, including a Velvet Underground cover (“Waiting for the Man”) and the proto-glam “Toy Soldier,” reveal a Bowie still clawing his way out of the avant-garde shadows. This wasn’t Ziggy Stardust yet; it was Ziggy learning to strut. Theatricality didn’t emerge fully formed from Bowie’s brain. The Riot Squad’s mod-rock grit forced him to weaponize performance, to turn his androgynous whimsy into something a rowdy crowd could stomp to. What many overlook is how this band’s rawness tempered Bowie’s excesses—proof that even icons need friction to ignite.

Joe Meek’s Shadow: Genius or Ghost?

Producer Joe Meek looms over this anthology like a spectral puppeteer. The Tea Chest Tapes, a treasure trove of outtakes and alternate mixes, expose his obsessive tinkering. Meek, who died mid-1967, wasn’t just a studio wizard—he was a control freak who treated bands as clay. Take the 14 takes of “Cry, Cry, Cry” included here. Each iteration tweaks tempo, vocal delivery, even instrumentation. Was this artistry or sabotage? From my perspective, Meek’s genius was his curse. He heard perfection in his head but couldn’t stop reworking reality to match it. The Riot Squad, ever-fluid in membership, became his lab rats. And yet, their soulful core survived his meddling. That tension—between Meek’s neurotic precision and the band’s R&B sweat—is what makes these sessions electrifying.

The Band That Couldn’t Settle: A Strength in Disguise?

Eighteen members in five years. That’s not a band—it’s a revolving door. But here’s the twist: The Riot Squad’s instability might’ve been their secret weapon. Consider their lineup shifts as a metaphor for 1960s counterculture itself—restless, hungry, allergic to stasis. When Mitch Mitchell (later Hendrix’s drummer) left, he was replaced by someone rawer, hungrier. When David Bowie exited stage left, the band soldiered on, even jamming with Hendrix himself in Frankfurt. This wasn’t a flaw; it was a survival tactic. In an era where bands either exploded or evaporated, The Riot Squad’s adaptability kept them creatively alive. They were less a group and more a movement—a collective R&D lab for rock’s future.

Why This Anthology Changes Everything

We’re drowning in reissues, but this one isn’t nostalgia bait. The inclusion of Glenda Collins’ soul-staple collaborations (“Dancing in the Street”) and the long-lost Making Up for Lost Time album reframes The Riot Squad as genre-blenders, not just mod also-rans. One thing that immediately stands out is how their covers—like a vocal version of Meek’s “Telstar”—bridge the gap between British Invasion rock and the psychedelic experimentation about to explode. They weren’t stuck in the past; they were pointing toward the future, even if nobody was listening.

Final Thoughts: The Sound of Almost-History

The Riot Squad never got their moment. But if you take a step back and think about it, their legacy is everywhere. Bowie’s theatricality? Meek’s production eccentricities? Hendrix’s transatlantic jams? All echoes of this band’s brief, chaotic orbit. This anthology isn’t just about rediscovery—it’s about recontextualization. It raises a deeper question: Do we celebrate the bands that made it, or the ones that mattered despite failing? The Riot Squad’s answer is in every raw vocal take and abandoned Meek mix: sometimes, the journey is the destination.

Grab the anthology. Let the ghosts of 1967 remind you that greatness isn’t always about hits—it’s about leaving fingerprints on the edges of history.