Dedicated to the first of July.
If you’ve ever wondered what it would sound like if a sunrise had a nervous breakdown, regrouped, and then soared to the heavens in a symphonic blaze of glory, July Morning by Uriah Heep is your answer.
This nearly eleven-minute juggernaut of swirling organ, five-part harmonies, and emotionally volcanic vocals is not just a track—it’s an experience. Sitting at track three on the band’s third album, Look At Yourself, released in September 1971, July Morning is widely considered one of the band’s most significant artistic statements—and possibly the most romantic use of the C minor key ever committed to vinyl.
Let’s start with the obvious: the intro. The song opens with a grandiose organ line that sounds like Jon Lord’s long-lost twin rising from the mist. The rest of the band joins in to build an extended instrumental crescendo that feels like the climax of a song, except here, it’s just the beginning. Bold move? Absolutely. But this is Uriah Heep we’re talking about—they deal in drama like other bands deal in chord changes.
Things calm down (slightly) as the verse creeps in. David Byron delivers the lyrics with such emotional vulnerability you’d think he was personally dumped by the sun itself. The composition ebbs and flows, transitions between light and shade like some kind of sonic weather report, and never loses its grip on grandeur. It may not be textbook “prog,” but it is epic, multi-part, and hauntingly complex—so let’s just agree to call it “proto-prog” and move on.
The harmonies—those classic Heep harmonies—are in full, operatic effect. And by the time the final solos roll in, with guitars and keyboards dueling it out for eternal supremacy, the track is full throttle. It ends not with a whisper, but with an “aural assault” (the good kind) that leaves you wondering whether to applaud or just sit in stunned silence.
And on vinyl, you did sit in silence. Because this mammoth of a track closes out Side A. A perfect choice. What could possibly follow it? Answer: nothing. Except maybe the need for deep breathing and a strong cup of tea.
A Song Born on a Bored Bus
Keyboardist Ken Hensley first wrote the bones of July Morning during a particularly uneventful tour layover in July 1970. Left alone on a tour bus shared with the very-not-Uriah-Heep band Sha Na Na (yes, really), Hensley picked up his guitar and started to kill time.
“It really was a July morning,” he recalled. “And a very early one at that—3 a.m.!” He toyed with chords and eventually found inspiration in the silence, boredom, and early dawn melancholy. The opening line—“There I was on a July morning”—is as literal as it gets, but from there, the imagination kicked in. After all, “sitting on a bus” wasn’t exactly rock lyric gold.
Once he’d shaped it up, Hensley brought the rough draft to the band’s rehearsal room. According to him, “by the end of the day, it had become the song that so many people grew to love. That was magic!” Modest? Not really. But accurate? Very.
From Skeleton to Behemoth
What started as a basic song grew considerably once the band realized they had several bits—each in the same key—that could be Frankensteined together. Guitarist Mick Box, bassist Paul Newton, drummer Ian Clarke, vocalist David Byron, and Hensley all contributed ideas. The result was more than a song—it was an odyssey.
The structure gained everything from a build-up chorus to a guitar bridge to a monster playout section. Notably, all of this was captured in the studio in a single day. Yes, they recorded multiple takes, but the version on the album? That was the very first. Sometimes, lightning really does strike on Take One.
Legacy Beyond Vinyl
At ten and a half minutes, July Morning remains Uriah Heep’s second longest studio track—only outdone by Salisbury, which filled an entire side of the previous album and came complete with orchestral backing. But unlike Salisbury, July Morning became a fixture in the band’s live shows and even took on a bizarre second life: it’s now the unofficial anthem of a national holiday in Bulgaria, where fans gather each year to watch the sunrise on—you guessed it—a July morning. Yes, really.
So the next time someone says classic rock bands didn’t know how to emote, point them to this track. It’s got heartbreak, rebirth, sunshine, stormy nights, and birds singing at dawn—all wrapped in Heep’s soaring blend of melodrama and melody. Not bad for a song that started out as a cure for tour bus boredom.
